Dream a Little Dream of me
by Isilien Elenihin
Summary: The mind is the most dangerous prison of all.    Rated M for disturbing imagery and some sexual situations.  This is the third installment in my Smith & Tyler universe, following We Do the Best We Can and Sensible Shoes.
1. Chapter 1: What Never Was

**A/N**: And here is the finished chapter one! The song lyrics are taken from "Dream a Little Dream of Me," which has been performed by (among many others) Ella Fitzgerald.

WARNING: This story is going to be dark, and just a bit disturbing. This chapter, and chapter two, are a bit tamer, but chapter three has some graphic and potentially disturbing imagery employed (or to be employed, depending on when you're reading this). Just thought I'd give y'all a heads up. This is a trip down the rabbit hole, so buckle up and enjoy the ride!

* * *

><p>Chapter One<p>

_Sweet dreams 'till sunbeams find you,  
>Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you.<br>But in your dreams, whatever they be.  
>Dream a little dream of me.<em>

The Present

_The air was cold against her damp skin as she moved through the tunnel. The walls were cool earth packed firm by the weight of the structure above her head. She stumbled on the uneven floor and almost fell, but he caught her and pulled her back to her feet. His hand was warm around her wrist. _

_ "A little bit further," he murmured. "Do you need to sit down?" _

_ She shook her head. She had to find them. They were lost—Martha, Tosh, Dominic, Abby, all of them. The tunnels were a twisting warren, but unlike the rabbit burrows they resembled, deadly. She winced and her hand went to her side. Blood made her shirt tacky. The Doctor frowned and shone the torch at her. His eyes widened._

_ "Rose!" He stripped off his jacket and wadded it up against her side. His tie followed, wound around her waist to secure the makeshift bandage. "Why didn't you tell me?"_

_ "No time," she replied. "Got to keep moving." He nodded, and they started walking again. Her blood pounded in her head. The tunnel moved in front of her eyes, shifting in and out of her field of vision. She hadn't lost that much blood. She shouldn't be hallucinating yet. _

_ The walls of the tunnel around them seemed to undulate. The Doctor froze, and exchanged the torch for his sonic screwdriver. "What—? Watch out!"_

_ Something long and thick wrapped itself around her legs. Another tendril fastened onto her left arm, and then her right. She tried to pull away, to kick and grab and run but her head pounded and her side hurt and whatever the things were they were _strong_. The Doctor buzzed the sonic at them, but it did nothing. He cried out as more tendrils separated themselves from the wall and enveloped him, pulling him back. "Rose!" He called, still straining to reach her. "Rose!"_

* * *

><p>She woke with a start and for a minute she didn't know where she was, but then the gentle hum of the TARDIS reasserted itself and she relaxed. The bedroom was sparsely furnished, she noted, as she studied her surroundings. The walls were a deep blue, almost black, as was the carpet. A wardrobe stood opposite the bed. The smooth, dark wood was undecorated. Instead the clean lines and solid construction of the piece spoke of functional elegance. A desk accompanied by a single chair was positioned near the door. Bits of machinery littered the surface—the only clutter apparent in the room, besides the bits of clothing scattered on the floor near where she lay ensconced on the bed. It was composed of the same wood as the wardrobe and the desk. Four posts rose to the ceiling of the room, but there was no ceiling. A hologram of space danced above the room. It was beautiful and majestic and fascinating—and if she hadn't looked up she would have never known. A room can tell so much about its owner.<p>

Said owner was leaning against the door-frame of the ensuite, his blue eyes watching her with amused affection. Like his room he was stripped-down, functional, at least on the surface. Beneath his plain veneer and stern exterior he was a man of infinite depths: brilliant and wise and far gentler than he appeared. He was also wearing a towel, she realized, and only a towel. She felt the heat of a blush creeping up her face. He grinned and something in his gaze shifted. She recognized the implicit challenge it contained and, well, let it never be said that Rose Tyler was afraid of a challenge. She sat up and let the sheets pool around her waist. His grin widened and he sauntered over to the bed. One large, calloused hand cupped her cheek and his face softened slightly. "Thought you'd sleep all day." His hand slid over her cheek and into her hair.

She tilted her head back to meet his eyes. "If you keep looking at me like that we're never going to see my mum."

His eyes twinkled. "Sounds good to me." She rolled her eyes and he brought his lips to hers. His hand fisted in her hair and her hands ran over the lean muscles of his chest to his shoulders. She pulled herself up to him, pressing her warm skin against his, cool and damp from the shower. He broke the kiss with another grin and let himself fall onto the bed. Rose squeaked in dismay as he covered her body with his own. "Doctor!" She narrowed her eyes at him but he was kissing her again and it was terribly difficult to be angry with him when he was doing so many interesting things with his tongue.

She pulled away. "We are going to be horribly late," she reminded him.

He tilted his head so that his lips were centimeters away from her ear. "Time machine," he reminded her.

"Right." The heat in his voice made her shiver. "Well then, carry on."

He did so.

* * *

><p>They lay curled around each other on the bed. The Doctor was stretched out on his back, one arm around Rose, who lay pressed against his side with her head on his chest, and the other at his side, her fingers tangled in his. She closed her eyes and listened to the soothing rhythm of his double heartbeat as he watched the ceiling flicker and dance.<p>

"That was nice."

He smiled. "Bit, yeah."

She was loathe to let him go, but she managed to roll away and stretch. "Need a shower now," she noted, her voice loosing the blur of sleep.

"Why's that?"

She attempted to glare at him, but failed and contented herself with exasperated affection. "'Cause there is no way in hell I'm going to see Mum smelling like sex. She's got a nose almost as good as yours, y'know. Fancy another slap?"

He grumbled. "Mothers. It's always the mothers."

"You brought me back a year late!" she teased him.

"She thought I kidnapped you for sex!" he retorted.

She raised an eyebrow as she rose and walked to the ensuite, deliberately sliding her hips from side to side more than was strictly necessary. She could feel his eyes on her as she turned and flashed one of her cheeky grins, her tongue between her teeth. "Y'mean you didn't?"

* * *

><p>The Doctor muttered uncomplimentary things about 'stupid apes' and 'domestics' as they exited the TARDIS, which was parked in its favorite place on the Powell Estate. Rose took no notice of him as she swung their joined hands happily and almost skipped up to her family's flat. He was such a softie, really. All bark and no bite, except when he did. She knocked on the white door and it flew open almost before she pulled her hand away.<p>

"Rose!" Jackie Tyler enveloped her in a hug. The Doctor attempted to slip around her while she was apparently distracted, but she released her daughter and pounced on him. He flashed a pleading look in Rose's direction, but she was all ready inside looking for the rest of her family.

Lilly, her 12-year old sister, was walking around the kitchen, her ear glued to the phone. She waved at Rose, who waved back. Tony, nine, was at the table eating breakfast and reading a comic book. She ruffled his hair and pulled him into a hug.

"You're back!" he exclaimed. "Did you bring anything cool with you? You know, anything alien?"

She snorted. "Besides the Doctor?"

"Ro-ose," he groaned and rolled his eyes. "I said something cool!"

"Oi!" The Doctor, who had finally managed to extricate himself from Jackie, flashed a mock glare at her brother. "I'm very cool, thanks much. Cooler than a stupid ape, anyway."

"You're downright chilly," Rose replied with another cheeky grin.

"I didn't notice you complaining earlier," he murmured.

"You two!" Jackie was glaring at them. "I might not be a Time Lord, but I'm not deaf, and I don't want to hear it!"

Rose giggled and the Doctor rolled his eyes. "Always the mothers."

"I heard that!"

The door opened again, and Peter Tyler stepped into the flat. "I saw the TARDIS, Jacks!" he called. "Where's my little girl?" Rose ran into her father's arms. "Hello sweetheart." He hugged her tightly. She loved her life with the Doctor, she really did, but sometimes she envied her siblings their happy home life. Her mum and dad were good now. Pete made decent money managing a shop and her mum worked for a salon down the street, but it hadn't always been smooth sailing. She remembered the screaming matches loud enough to wake her up at night. She remembered watching her dad pack a suitcase and leave for weeks on end. She remembered finding her mum passed out on the couch surrounded by bottles.

Still. The past was the past. She had the Doctor, and the TARDIS, and all of time and space, and her family. She smiled and stepped back, her hand meeting the Doctor's without thought. Something like electricity crackled over her skin.

* * *

><p><em>A beast, huge and black and hungry. Wings that spread wide in the confines of the church.<em>

_ "I'm the oldest thing here." Her Doctor, with his close-cropped hair and blue eyes and battered leather jacket. The TARDIS key stuck midair. A roar, and the thing swooped. _

_ The Doctor was gone, the key was cold. _

_ "Who am I, love?"_

_ "My daddy." _

_ The brakes squeal and the car hits the man with the ginger hair. She holds his hand as his eyes close.*_

* * *

><p>"Rose? Rose, what's going on?" The Doctor's voice broke through the images that flashed before her eyes.<p>

"What?" She blinked, trying to clear her head.

He was examining her face, concern written in the wrinkle on his forehead and the set of his lips. "You don't look well."

She felt ill, queasy, and her head was pounding. She smiled and waved him away. "Just a headache. I'll take something later." He looked unconvinced. She rolled her eyes at him. "Go on, I want to talk to Mum anyway."

"Call me if you need me," he ordered. She saluted ironically. "Right then, I'm off to the TARDIS," he announced, and nodded to her family. "Nice to see you Pete, Tony, Lilly." He hesitated a bit. "Jackie," he said finally, and skipped out the door before she could snap at him.

Rose watched him go. She shuddered as the images she had seen rose to the surface of her mind. Suddenly she felt itchy, like she was wearing a wool sweater. Her family chattered around her, but something—something felt wrong.

* * *

><p><em>She was lost, not just 'temporarily misplaced,' as the Doctor liked to say, but really, properly, lost. Of course, she was wandering in a maze, so maybe she was supposed to be lost. Thick green hedges rose up on either side of her and the path between them was paved with smooth gray stones. She felt like she had been walking for hours. Cool fog obscured most of her surroundings and muffled sound. She tried shouting, but received no response. <em>

_ "Need a bit of string, I do," she muttered._

_ "_That_ is an excellent idea!" Some exclaimed brightly. She whirled around and a brown-eyed man was standing next to her. "Someone's been reading her mythology, I see." His eyes crinkled in amusement._

_ "Who are you?" she demanded. _

_ He blinked at her. "Who do you want me to be?"_

_ She paused, and studied him. He was tall and thin, with chocolate brown eyes and hair that wouldn't stay tidy. He was standing quite at ease, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his brown pinstriped trousers and a pair of thick rimmed glasses perched on the tip of his nose. A pair of battered white trainers completed the unlikely ensemble. "I don't know," she finally answered. _

_ "Then how should I know?" he pointed out. "It's your dream, after all." _

_ "If it is my dream," she said as she began to walk again, "I shouldn't be lost. I should be able to pick a path, and make it the right one. Lucid dreams, and all that."_

_ "'All that is gold does not glitter,'" the strange man responded, "and 'not all who wander are lost.'" He paused for a second and frowned. "Sorry, that's _The Lord of the Rings_, but the point is the same." He gestured to the hedges around them. "Why do you think you're lost?"_

_ "Because I've been wandering around this bloody maze for hours!" she snapped back. _

_ He raised an eyebrow. "Blimey, you're just as cranky when you're asleep as when you're awake!" _

_ She froze. "How would you know that?"_

_ "I'm a part of your subconscious, aren't I?" he responded. "I know it because you know it."_

_ She shook her head. "That's not it. Who are you, really?"_

_ "Who do you think I am?"_

_ "That's not an answer!" she cried, her frustration getting the better of her._

_ "You aren't asking the right questions," he responded calmly. _

_ She turned on him, her hands on her hips and her eyes flashing. "Then what are the right questions?"_

_ He shook his head. "You have to remember." _

* * *

><p>She started awake. The familiar feeling of strangeness swept over her, and then faded as she threw off the last vestiges of sleep. She reached out a hand in the darkness for the Doctor, but his side of the bed was empty. Typical. He rarely slept through the night—some nights he didn't sleep at all—and she knew where to find him. Rose slid on her pale pink dressing gown and padded down the TARDIS corridors towards the Console room. She stopped at the kitchen on her way and made two cups of tea. She murmured a brief thanks to the ship and continued on. He was almost always in the Console room when he didn't sleep. Something about tinkering with his ship put him at ease in a way that very little else could.<p>

A pair of black boots attached to legs wrapped in black jeans was sticking out from beneath one of the control panels. She kicked one of the boots lightly and he slid out from beneath the ship.

"All right?" he inquired. She held up the mugs.

"Couldn't sleep. Brought tea."

He grinned. "Rose Tyler, you read my mind. I was just thinking about tea." She handed him his mug and curled up on the jumpseat. The Doctor joined her and for a moment they sat in silence. "Right then, what's wrong?"

"Why does something have to be wrong?" she huffed. "Can't I just want to see you?"

"Not in the middle of the night." His grin took a bit of the sting out of the acerbic comment. "You apes and your sleep. I have to drag you out of bed and that's _after_ you've had eight full hours. Somethin's bothering you, so spill."

She sipped her tea, using the time to gather her thoughts. "I've been having dreams," she said finally. "Nightmares, more like. I'm lost. I have to find someone, and there's this brown-eyed man who keeps showing up. He wears this daft suit and he talks in riddles. He keeps telling me I have to remember." She frowned. "But I haven't forgotten anything important, have I?"

The Doctor shook his head. "Not that I can remember, and I've got a great big brain, me. If you were missing something I'd know about it."

"And then," she continued, "when we went to visit Mum and Dad. I touched your hand and there was this—energy. And I _saw things_." She shot a pleading look in his direction. "I know it sounds daft, but it was like a movie in my head. We were in this church, and there was this—this dragon thing. And it _ate_ you and you were _dead_ and the TARDIS was gone. But then my dad ran out in front of this car and everything was back to normal, but he was dead." She didn't realize that she was crying until the tears spilled out of her eyes and down her cheeks. The Doctor pulled her into a tight hug, miraculously without disturbing her mug. "Something feels wrong," she gasped against his jumper. "Something is off. It's like an itch under my skin, a tickle inside my brain. I can feel it and I don't know why!"

He cradled her against his chest and rubbed his hand up and down her back. "Nothing is wrong with you, Rose. Well, maybe not nothing, but not what you think. We've been pushing it a bit—running about more than necessary. It's starting to wear on me, so I know it has to be hard on you." He pulled away enough to meet her eyes. "Tomorrow we'll go somewhere calm, yeah? No running for our lives, no mad dictators tryin' to kill us. We can relax for a while, just breathe. How does that sound?"

She laid her head against his chest and let the double beat of his hearts calm her. "Sounds nice," she murmured, on the edge of sleep again. He set his mug on the floor, took hers from her and deposited it next to his own, and then pulled her into his arms. He would stay with her tonight, she knew. And if he was there, the dreams wouldn't come.

* * *

><p>'Somewhere calm' was apparently the planet known as New Earth. The Doctor lectured he ran around the console, pressing buttons and throwing levers. "Right, so the human race! You lot always want what you can't have. You've got your planet, but there are better ones far far away. It blows up, and suddenly everyone gets all nostalgic and wants it back again!"<p>

"What do they do?" Rose asked as she gripped the railing, quite used to her part in these discussions.

"They went looking for another one! This one's got the same orbit, it's roughly the same size with a similar earth-to-water ratio. Fantastic! Humans moved in a set up shop and now they've got a thriving economy and anthropomorphic cat people!" He flashed her a grin. "Hold on tight." She did so.

* * *

><p>He opened the door and gestured for her to exit first. She hesitated for a moment. "Are my clothes okay? Don't wanna get lynched by an angry mob 'cause I'm wearing their sacred colors or something."<p>

He looked her up and down for a moment longer than was strictly necessary. "Nope! You'll do. Now get!" He shooed her out. She stopped just outside the door. They were parked on a hill overlooking a huge body of water.

"That's the New Atlantic Ocean," the Doctor's breath was cool against her neck. "And positioned on its edge is the city state of New New York."

She snorted. "Seriously, New New York?"

"Seriously!" he confirmed. "Like I said, nostalgic."

She took a deep breath. The air was cool and smelled of salt and the sea and something sweet. Her brow wrinkled as she tried to place it.

The Doctor bent down and plucked a few strands of grass. He held them out to her and the sweet smell grew stronger. "Apple grass," he explained. "It's native to this planet."

She grinned. "Apple grass." Standing on a new planet, with a different sky above her and different ground below, she could feel joy welling up inside her. She jumped up and down for a moment. The Doctor quirked an eyebrow as she grabbed his arm and hugged it. "I love travelling with you. I really, really do. I never want to stop."

He patted the hand she kept wrapped around his arm. "Well then, let's go exploring!"

* * *

><p>It was market day in the residential neighborhoods of New New York. For all of its year-five-billion-plus sophistication, the poorer sections of the city seemed familiar to Rose. They reminded her, she supposed, of London. Vendors crowded the sidewalk on either side of the wide street. Raucous voices hawking vegetables or fried foods or other non-food wares cut through the steady thrum of traffic and the chatter of pedestrians. As per tradition, the Doctor and Rose purchased chips. They were strange, but tasty. Apparently the potato didn't do well in New Earth soil. The ingenious colonists used something that was a bit like a yam in its place. Instead of slathering the fried strips with salt and vinegar locals sprinkled theirs with cinnamon, cardamom, and brown sugar. They were sweet and spicy and just a bit alien—perfect for her surroundings.<p>

The Doctor had wandered off to look at parts for the TARDIS and Rose meandered from stall to stall, examining the vendors' wares. She really should buy something for her mother. She always brought Tony a souvenir; surely she could find something that her Mum would enjoy. Something shiny caught her eye. She turned her head for a clearer look. A small, brassy hued trinket sat nestled between two stacks of scarves. She picked it up. It was small, but heavy. It looked a bit like the bottom of one of those old fashioned perfume spritzers, but bronzed. She frowned as she studied it more closely. It was also uncommonly warm.

"It's bazulium." She almost jumped out of her skin when the Doctor's voice interrupted her thoughts from the general vicinity of her ear. She glared at him.

"What's that when it's at home, then?"

He held out his hand and she deposited the 'bazulium' on his palm. "It's a metal found on an asteroid not far from here," he explained. "It's sensitive to the slightest change in air pressure, moisture, etc. When it's going to rain, it's cool. When it's going to be sunny, the molecules are excited and produce heat."

She shoved him lightly. "You think you're so impressive."

"Oi!" he protested. "I _am_ impressive!"

She threaded her fingers through his and grinned up at him. "You're so full of it."

* * *

><p><em>She handed her mother the trinket, but the ghost took center-stage. Human but not human, gray and fuzzy and a bootprint doesn't look like a boot doesn't look like a cyberman. Torchwood and ghosts that aren't ghosts and lions and tigers and <em>daleks_ oh my. _

_ He sent her away again, the brown-eyed man, desperate to keep her safe but doesn't he know that she's safest with _him_? The whirlwind rages around her but she's safe, always safe in the eye of the Oncoming Storm. _

_ And then she's holding on but the lever is slippery and her palms are sweaty and he's screaming for her, screaming her name. Rose! Rose! And she's falling and then she's across and the walls have closed and she's on the wrong side. White, white walls. Cold and sterile. White and shiny and terrible.* _

* * *

><p>She staggered and would have fallen if the Doctor hadn't gripped her arm and held her upright. "Rose?" His brow was furrowed as he searched her face for clues to her sudden weakness.<p>

She shuddered. Waves of despair, of overwhelming anger and fear and the certainty that something was _wrong_ washed over her. The itch was back, crawling under her skin. Her head was pounding. She pulled out of his grip and held her head in both hands. "Rose, what's going on?" His hands moved to rest at her temples but she shoved them away.

"Something's wrong," she whispered. "There are things in my head and they want to get _out_!" She was yelling now. All around them people turned to stare at her. She knew she looked mad. Perhaps she was. "Something is _wrong_!" She backed away from him, her eyes wide and staring. "You burned. You burned!"

He grabbed her arm and pulled her to him. "That didn't happen, Rose. It's just stress. Let it go."

"Take me back!" She yelled. "Take me back!"

* * *

><p>She shoved herself away from him as soon as they entered the TARDIS. He tried to follow her, but she held up her hand. "I'm going to bed."<p>

"Do you want me to come in later?"

She shook her head. "Let me think. Let me breathe."

He was still as a statue as he watched her go.

* * *

><p><em>Lost again. She was always bloody<em> lost_. At least it wasn't a hedge maze this time. She brushed a hand against the rough stones of the wall as she walked. At regular intervals wooden doors were set into the stone. They were strange and looked ancient, the kind of doors you'd expect to find in a medieval castle, which is apparently where her brain got the inspiration for this dream. It was a dream, she knew it was a dream because the brown-eyed man was with her. He hadn't spoken to her yet, just watched her with the steady intensity of a fascinated observer. She found it disconcerting. _

_ "What do you want?" she asked, finally. _

_ He tilted his head to the side as if he was puzzled. "Do I have to want something?"_

_ "Everyone does." _

_ He pursed his lips for a moment. "I wanted to see you."_

_ "Well then, you have, so you can go." _

_ "Do you want me to go?"_

_ She was quiet for a moment. "Not really, I guess. It's too quiet without you." _

_ He grinned. "I've got quite a gob, if I do say so myself." The smile faded. "Do you remember?"_

_ She frowned. "Why do you keep asking me that?"_

_ "It's important." _

_ She growled. "Why am I here?" She gestured to the corridor with its stone walls and floor and wooden doors. "What is this place?" _

_ "We're inside your head, of course," he said, as if it was perfectly obvious. "It's your dream, after all. We're certainly not inside mine." _

_ "So you're real!" she crowed. "You have a body and all that!"_

_ "Or you think I do," he countered. "This is a dream, after all. I could be a figment of your imagination." _

_ She glared at him. "Nothing with you is ever easy." Her hand slipped from the cool stone and brushed against the solid wood of one of the doors. Voices floated through the corridor._

"The Doctor is a legend woven throughout history. When disaster comes he's there. He brings a storm in his wake and he has only one constant companion."

"Who?"

"Death."

_She jerked her hand back. "What was that?"_

_ The brown-eyed man raised an eyebrow. "A memory."_

_ "You're mad," her mouth said, but her eyes put the lie to her words. _

_ "You've known something was off. You could feel it." He laced his fingers through hers. "You were right." He pressed his lips to her forehead, and then vanished. _

_ "Come back!" she shouted in the empty corridor. Her voice echoed through the stony silence. Tentatively, she reached her hand out and touched the door again._

"We're falling through space, you and me, clinging to the skin of this tiny little world. And, if we let go... That's who I am. Now forget me, Rose Tyler. Go home."

_She pulled her fingers back again. Her heart was pounding. The tickle was back in her brain, like something was shifting inside her head. She had never felt it in a dream before. She gritted her teeth and grabbed the doorknob, but it wouldn't budge. It was locked. "Fat lot of good this is," she called, hoping that the brown-eyed man would come back. "I can't get in!" _

_ A sound drifted down the corridor in response. It was a voice, but no words. It was…it was singing, and it was familiar. She let her hand fall, and took a step towards the sound. The further down the corridor she walked, the louder it grew. After what seemed like hours she stopped in front of a door. It was different from the others. Strange circular designs covered the wooden surface. The seemed to dance and shift in the torchlight, and the singing was almost deafening. It pulsed through her being, calling, ordering, seeking. The door opened almost before her hand reached the knob. _

_ She stepped into the room, and stopped. It was not what she expected. Of course, nothing about this situation was what she expected. She really ought to stop having expectations, if life was going to refuse to meet them. The room was small, no bigger than a closet. A full-length mirror hung on the wall opposite the door, and inside that mirror was a girl._

_ It was Rose, and not-Rose. Golden light radiated from the figure, like a candle through quartz, and golden fire blazed from her eyes. Instinctively Rose raised a hand to shield her face from the glow._

_ "Who are you?" she asked the image._

_ "_I am the Bad Wolf,_" the girl responded. It was Rose's voice over another voice, something ancient and powerful. The duality sent goosepimples rippling over her skin._

_ "An' what's that when it's at home?" Ever cheeky in the face of danger, she was. _

_ "_I looked into the TARDIS, and the TARDIS looked into me._" _

_ "You mean _I _looked into the TARDIS?" Rose frowned. "I don't remember that, and I'm pretty sure I would."_

_ "_We are the same. The memories were hidden away._" The Bad Wolf tilted her head. "_I want him safe, my Doctor._" _

_ "So do I," Rose said softly._

_ "_Then you must remember._"_

_ She put her hands on her hips and stared at the thing in the mirror. "An' how do I do that?"_

_ The Bad Wolf placed her hand on the mirror. "_Let me out. Let the memories go._" _

_ Rose stared at the mirror. Ripples spread across the surface from the not-Rose's hand, like the surface of a pond disturbed by a stone. She drew in a deep breath and placed her own hand against that of the image. _

_ Golden light bloomed behind her eyes and the song of the universe filled her head. She remembered. _

* * *

><p>*These images taken from the episode "Father's Day"<p>

The images from the second memory flash are from "Army of Ghosts" and "Doomsday." The quotes in the final dream sequence are from "Rose."


	2. Chapter 2: Faery Tales

A/N: Nothing you recognize belongs to me! Some spoilers for the Torchwood episode "Small Worlds." Since I have neglected this story for far too long, here's an extra update for this week! :D

Quotes taken from "The Heart of the Woman," and "The Stolen Child," by W.B. Yeats.

* * *

><p>Chapter Two: Faery Tales<p>

The Past

It was a dreary day, the kind of day that Rose usually occupied by curling up on the couch with a hot mug of tea and a good book, or one of those flashy pseudo-historical films the Doctor liked to mock. The sky was a bright steel gray and a damp chill permeated the air and seemed to sink into her bones. She shivered and pulled her coat tighter around herself. Even the Doctor looked uncomfortable as the fierce wind bit into their exposed faces. It was odd, she thought, seeing him react to the environment. One of the downsides to his partially human nature was his lack of superior Time Lord temperature regulation, apparently. She had rarely seen him hot or cold—as his first, well, ninth, self he went everywhere in that battered leather jacket regardless of temperature, and as his second—tenth, self he switched out the jacket for a long brown coat. She shivered again, and he moved closer to her, attempting to block out the wind. She smiled her thanks and he responded with one of his manic grins.

"Well," he declared as he glanced around the station. "This is lovely!" The rest of her team was not amused.

"You really are an alien, mate." That was Dominic, grumbling under his breath. He knew the Doctor could hear him. They'd all found out just how superior certain senses were when the office gossip said something unflattering about Rose. She didn't particularly care what Susan McCallister said or thought about her. After working for Torchwood for three years she was used to whispers and sidelong looks, but the Doctor was not pleased. He had overheard as he walked past, and instead of letting the situation go he turned to Susan and responded to her comment with impeccable politeness. His manner was telling—the Doctor was often rude, but less so when he was angry really, properly angry. Then some sort of Time Lord training seemed to surface and he was full of double-edged smiles and razor-sharp compliments.

Martha snorted. "What gave it away? Was it the way he intimidated those traders, or the marmalade incident?" Rose giggled, Tosh smiled, Dominic snickered, and the new kid looked confused. The Doctor refused to answer, instead turning his attention to the train tracks in front of them.

"What happened?" That was the new kid—Agent, Rose reminded herself, Gregory Thomas. Martha grinned and related the story of the Doctor's latest misadventure with marmalade.

He frowned. "You're having me on."

"I am not!" Martha protested. "Ask anyone! Ask Rose!" Everyone except the Doctor nodded.

"'S true," Rose replied. "The TARDIS would hide sweet stuff from him." She bumped the Doctor's shoulder affectionately, her tongue between her teeth in a cheeky smile. "Like a five-year-old when it comes to sweets, you are."

He sniffed disdainfully. "Fat lot of help you are, Rose Tyler. I defend your honor, and you respond by leaving me at the mercy of these," he gestured to the team, "jackals."

"Rude," she chided him.

"And not ginger!" he completed, beaming. The two of them laughed while the rest of the team looked bemused. It was a parallel universe thing, a lovers thing, laughing at jokes that no one else would get, making references that never existed here. Her team learned to take it in stride, smile and nod like they did when the Doctor was going on about temporal causality and making quantum physics jokes.

* * *

><p>When the train finally arrived, Dominic and Tosh pulled Martha and Greg into the first of the two compartments Torchwood had reserved, leaving Rose and the Doctor alone in the second. He raised an eyebrow. "What was that about?"<p>

She grinned. "I think they're trying to do us a favor."

"Oh." He thought about it for a second, and then a smile split his face. "Oh!" She laughed. He settled onto the seat next to her. "So, what do humans typically do on train rides?"

"Nine hundred years old, and you've never taken the train?" She cocked an eyebrow at him.

He shrugged, looking embarrassed. "Never needed to." His voice was quiet and he looked out the window as if the station held some incalculable truth. Rose took his hand and squeezed it in silent reassurance. He smiled at her and they sat there for a moment in silence.

"How is it coming, the TARDIS, I mean?" she asked finally. It was nice to have a bit of time to themselves. Lately she'd seen very little of him. There was that mess to clean up with Xikxizak—she still wasn't sure how to pronounce that—and he had disappeared into the lab with Tosh to figure out some kind of growth-stimulant for the baby TARDIS. She'd been lucky to see him at all. He'd hardly slept, not that he needed much sleep, but the dark circles under his eyes were telling. She knew what he was up to—throwing himself into projects, avoiding sleep, never stopping to just breathe. He was running in the only way he could. It must have finally hit him, how trapped he was. God knows it hit her some days. Sometimes, when she was half-buried in paperwork and rules and regulations tightened like a noose around her neck she wanted to scream, to get in Pete's truck and drive and drive and end up where she ended up. Sometimes at night her rooms were claustrophobic and she felt like the still air was choking her and she had to get out, to _go somewhere_.

It was easier and harder with him there. Easier, because she was sure he understood. Her mother didn't, nor her father. They liked to stay still, but she had to keep moving. The itch got into her brain and her feet and she wasn't meant for a stationary life. Not since she met the Doctor. But she couldn't go out for a wander without him. She couldn't just drop everything and leave like she had done when she first arrived in Pete's World. She couldn't lose herself in her own troubles, not when he was drowning right in front of her. It was part of the reason she'd jumped at this job, well, that and a chance to see Abby again. They'd be off, moving, having another adventure, albeit one they were paid for.

He shrugged. "It's going as well as can be expected," he replied to a question she'd forgotten asking. He ran a hand through his unruly hair in a gesture she knew well. "It's," he broke off and looked down, looked away from her. "It's going to take a while," he said finally. "At least a decade. Maybe longer."

"S better than a millennia," she pointed out gently.

"True." He studied their interlocked hands. "I've trapped you here," he said finally, his voice so low she had to strain to hear it. "I'm holding you back."

"Never," she replied. "We're in this together, yeah? The Doctor and Rose Tyler." She bumped his shoulder.

"As it should be," he said with the ghost of a smile.

"There you are." She grinned at him, pulled a slim volume out of her purse, and deposited it in his lap. "Read to me?" she asked. "S the best thing to do on a train, well, on a train that isn't a sleeper car, and you always make the books more interesting."

He flipped open the book and perused its contents. "Yeats?" he asked, an eyebrow raised in surprise.

She shrugged against him. "Read some stuff in school, an thought I'd give it a try. Besides, he's supposed to be a great Irish poet, right? I thought it would be good to know a bit about him, seeing as how that's where we're headed."

The Doctor hummed. "He was indeed a fantastic poet. Bit of an odd sort, really, although his wife was nice."

Rose shoved him. "Come off it, you haven't actually met him."

"Not this him," the Doctor replied, his eyes dancing with mischief, "but oh yes, I've met William Butler Yeats. Might even be a poem in here about me."

She rolled her eyes. "You're full of it."

"Sort of, yeah," he said, and flipped the page. "Here we are." She settled against him and he released her hand to wrap his arm around her. She pulled her legs up beneath her on the bench seat and he stroked her shoulder absently as he began to read:

"_O what to me the little room_

_ That was brimmed up with prayer and rest;_

_ He bade me out into the gloom,_

_ And my breast lies upon his breast_

_ O what to me my mother's care,_

_ The house where I was safe and warm;_

_ The shadowy blossom of my hair_

_ Will hide us from the bitter storm._

_ O hiding hair and dewy eyes,_

_ I am no more with life and death,_

_ My heart upon his warm heart lies,_

_ My breath is mixed into his breath._"

* * *

><p>He read on, pausing sometimes to answer questions, expounding on metaphors and briefly outlining the basis of Yeat's brand of Celtic mythology. "He was a symbolist in his earlier years," the Doctor explained. "He was all about looking beyond this world to something greater—something grand and mysterious." Rose seemed to drink it in, the trivia, the lectures, the bits of history he wove into the story. Her eyes sparkled as she questioned him and she paused thoughtfully to consider his answers.<p>

"Wow," she said after he finished reading 'No Second Troy.' "Bit bitter, was he?"

"Just a bit," the Doctor replied. "Ish. He was writing about his first great love, you know, a woman by the name of Maude Gonne. She was involved with the movement for Irish independence and he was completely besotted with her. He proposed something like seven times, and she kept turning him down."

Rose pondered for a moment. "Why did he keep asking?"

The Doctor shrugged. "Why do humans do anything?" She rolled her eyes. "I suspect it was because he loved her," he said, serious at last.

"How many times would you have asked me to travel with you?" The question was inevitable, he thought. There were any number of answers he could have given her, witty, casual, sarcastic, but only one was right. "As many as it took for you to say 'yes,'" he replied simply.

* * *

><p>He felt her stiffen as the train slid into the blackness that was the underwater tunnel connecting Ireland to what used to be England. The Chunnel had worked so well in this universe that they'd expanded the idea, used it to connect the entire Republic of Great Britain. He continued reading for a moment, but when she failed to relax he stopped.<p>

"Rose, are you all right?" he asked. She had gone still like this before, he remembered, when they were in the Chunnel. Something to do with the dark, something Torchwood.

She smiled weakly. "Not really," she admitted. He pulled her closer to him, trying to gentle her with his touch. She was shaking, he realized.

"What is it?" What could terrify Rose Tyler?

She took a deep breath, pulled something out of her pocket, and held it out to him. He blinked. A pair of 3-D specs rested in her hand. "Put them on," she instructed, "and then look at me."

He did so and gasped. Void stuff coated every inch of her, as if she'd been dipped in tar. The last time he'd looked at her like this little bits had swirled around her, but now she was dripping with it. He'd never seen such a high concentration of Void particles. How had she gotten through with that much attached to her? Logically speaking she should have been sucked in, mired down and lost forever. The thought sent chills down his spine. If anyone messed with the Void now, if they opened even a tiny window, she would be sucked in and he wasn't sure if anyone would be able to get her out again.

"How?" he choked. He took her hand and the thick black sludge swirled around his fingers sending waves of ice over him.

"I was jumping for almost three years," she reminded him. "It wasn't so bad at first, but the longer I jumped, the harder it became to tear through the Void." She looked away, her lips drawn thin with remembered fear. "Towards the end I didn't know if I would make it. Every time it felt like something was sucking me down, pulling me under. I screamed and screamed and screamed but there was no one around to hear me." She swallowed. He let the glasses fall to the floor and pulled her into his arms.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm so sorry."

She sniffled a bit as she clung to his jacket. "Needs must." Her voice was rough with an edge of tears that she fought to restrain. "But now—the dark, it reminds me. Dark, closed spaces throw me right back into the Void and it feels like I'm drowning all over again."

"Trauma will do that," he replied, stroking her hair. She sighed rested her head against him. He could feel her relaxing fractionally as the minutes ticked by.

"Keep reading?" she asked hopefully. "It helps when there's a distraction."

He shifted so that he could continue to hold her and the book. "Right then, where were we?"

* * *

><p>She moved away from him as soon as they exited the tunnel. "Got to go fix my face," she explained, gesturing to the tracks of mascara on her cheeks and her general disarray. "We've reached Wexford. They'll stop for a bit to let people on, and then we're off to Cork."<p>

"And that's where we're meeting your friend Abby?" he asked. She nodded. "Right then, off you go to fix your face. Although I think you're beautiful."

She smiled at him. "Thanks." He knew that she thought he was just being kind, but there was nothing further from the truth. Beauty, real beauty, was so much more than just a person's appearance. She was very pretty, and he liked her face very much, but what made her beautiful was the qualities she had as a person. Her strength, her joy, her compassion, her bravery, they radiated from within and transformed her.

For all that individual human beings disappointed and enraged him, as a whole, the Human race humbled him. They were more alive than any other race he'd met. They taught him, a—partial—Time Lord, the closest thing the Universe had to a god, how to live. He loved the Earth because he loved the stupid, brilliant people who inhabited it.

* * *

><p>"Took you long enough," he grumbled in mock irritation when she returned.<p>

"Oi!" she bit back. "What am I, your babysitter?"

"The position is open, I hear," he responded.

"I think I like my current position better." She perched on his lap for a second, and then slid over him to sit on the cool pleather bench seat.

He raised an eyebrow. "I am channeling Jack now, thanks." Rose grinned at him, her tongue between her teeth, and he thought that was exactly what she intended. "Anyway, tell me about Abby. Should I expect an interrogation?"

She shook her head. "Nah, she knows all about you. She was my partner when I first started at Torchwood." Rose was staring out the window as the countryside flew by, but he knew that wasn't what she saw. "We were a floating pair—went wherever we were needed. It was easier that way, let me travel. I couldn't stand to be in the same place. I had to be in London for two months to complete my training and I almost drove everyone spare." She smiled and so did he. They both knew why she was so restless. "Abby's Dominic's older sister, and now she's head of Torchwood Belfast. Their family's been in Torchwood for years, but they're some of the good ones." He hummed noncommittally. After everything that had happened with Torchwood he was a bit wary of people who claimed allegiance to the group. He knew that Pete was working to change the institute, and while he trusted him, he couldn't help wondering how worthy other members were. "We saw a lot of strange things, me n'Abby," Rose continued. Then she shuddered.

"Cold?" he asked solicitously.

She shook her head. "Remembering." She paused. "Have you ever read 'The Stolen Child?'" He nodded.

"_Where dips the rocky highland_

_of Sleuth Wood in the lake,_

_There lies a leafy island_

_Where flapping herons wake _

_the drowsy water-rats; _

_There we've hit out faery vats, _

_full of berries, _

_and the reddest stolen cherries _

_Come away o human child!_

_to the waters and the wild _

_with a faery hand in hand, _

_for the world's more full of weeping than you can understand_," he quoted. She shivered again.

"Yeah," she said as if her mouth were dry. "Yeah, that's the one."

"What about it?" Clearly it brought up unpleasant memories. He glanced at the volume of poetry she'd asked him to read. Sure enough, it was listed in the table of contents towards the end.

"Torchwood Cardiff requested aid," she began. "They had a case that required assistance. They wouldn't say what, just asked us to hurry. Abby and I were assigned to the case. We took a private Zeppelin, Dad was that worried, but we were still too late." Her lips were a thin line on her face. "They were dead by the time we reached the Hub."

"Who was?" he asked gently.

She looked at him with haunted eyes. "Everyone. The entire team. The place was a mess—looked like a tornado went through—and they were lying there with flower petals shoved down their throats."

The Doctor frowned. "Flower petals?"

Rose nodded. "Sounds daft, right? Who'd kill like that? We thought it was a person, thought it had to be." She made a disgusted noise in her throat. "It wasn't. Abby and I ordered backup, for the cleanup, if nothing else, and then we searched the records." She leaned back against the seat and he put his arm around her. "Turns out they were investigating the disappearance of a girl. There'd been all sorts of weird things happening around her—strange deaths, odd weather patterns and the like. We went back in the archives and found others. Turns out every 25 years a child disappeared from the Cardiff area, all accompanied by strange deaths and odd weather patterns."

"What was it?" He was curious now.

She shrugged. "No idea."

He frowned. "What brought this on?"

"I haven't," she began, and then stopped as if she was considering how much to tell him. "I haven't told everyone all that Abby told me," she continued. "This case that we're checking out, people have disappeared. She said," Rose looked at him, fear in her eyes. "She said that it reminded her of them. She said that she didn't think we could stop it."


	3. Chapter 3: What Cannot Be

A/N: Nothing that you recognize belongs to me! Song lyrics are from "Dream a Little Dream of Me." One quote taken from "The End of the World," and another from "Hamlet," by William Shakespeare.

* * *

><p>Chapter Three: What Cannot Be<p>

_Say nighty-night and kiss me.  
>Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me.<br>While I'm alone and blue as can be,  
>Dream a little dream of me.<em>

The Present

_It was quiet in the way that tombs are quiet, he thought as he wandered through the ruins. Huge, weathered blocks of granite littered the hilltop. Vines crawled up the side, tenacious ivy that would not be stopped by mere stone. Trees grew in what used to be the great hall, their thick trunks echoing the demolished pillars that had held up a canopy of stone. The grass was thick and soft beneath his trainers. Sunlight streamed through the verdant leaves above him and cast dancing patterns on the ground. People lived here once. And then they died here. It happened like that often. Something about the scene pulled at him, something about nature reclaiming what was hers. He remembered saying something to someone, so long ago. _You think it'll last forever, people and cars and concrete, but it won't. One day it's all gone—even the sky._ He stood there for a moment, trying to hold on to the memory. He felt vaguely like he should be wearing leather, like his hair was too long and his face was the wrong shape. _

_ Laughter floated on the breeze, loud in the stillness. He started. "Who's there?"_

_ A face poked out from behind a block of stone, a woman's face. She grinned at him, the tip of her tongue peeking through her teeth. She was pretty, he realized, and familiar. Very familiar. _

_ "You can come out," he called, holding his hands in front of him to show that he was unarmed. "I won't hurt you." _

_ "Yes you will," she replied, the smile gone, but she walked around the stone to stand in front of him anyway. "You won't mean to, but you will." _

_ He blinked. Was she someone from his future? "What's your name?" he asked._

_ She shrugged. "I have been called the lost girl."_

_ She didn't look like a girl. She was wearing very small jean shorts and a layered white blouse with crocheted straps. He could just see her rose-pink bra through the thin material. Her bottle-blond hair hung long and loose and shifted with the breeze. She looked like a woman, albeit a very young woman. "You don't look lost to me," he replied offhand. _

_ "You're not looking," she responded sternly and gestured for him to move his eyes away from her chest and up to her face._

_ "I wasn't!" he protested, but she turned away from him and moved further into the ruins. They climbed one of the partially-standing towers together. "It's going to rain, you know," he commented as they reached the top._

_ "Is the Oncoming Storm afraid of getting wet?" she asked with another tongue-touched smile._

_ "Of course not," he replied. "I was merely being polite." He paused. "You seem to know quite a bit about me," he said finally. "It's rather rude not to tell me anything about yourself in return." _

_ She gazed out over the ruins and the landscape beyond. The view was breathtaking. Miles of rocky valleys and stone-topped hills stretched out in front of them, terminating only at the edge of the sea. "It's beautiful," she breathed, awe heavy in her voice. "But sad." She ran a hand lightly over the rough stone of the tower. "So many deaths." She did not answer his implied question. _

_ "It is. But that's the way of things."_

_ Yes," she agreed. "It is." And then the heavens opened and the rain poured down. He expected her to be angry, to shriek and dive for cover. Instead, she lifted her arms and turned her face to the sky. She was laughing, he realized, as the rain coated her skin and turned her shirt nearly transparent. Joy bubbled through her almost palpably. It was a storm, and it was bringing destruction and renewal, and she was laughing. She turned to him, her eyes bright and her smile wide._

_ He kissed her because he couldn't think of any reasons not to kiss her. He kissed her, and it was like coming home. She was beautiful and warm in his arms, responsive and passionate. He could taste her life, her boundless energy on her lips. Something within her called to him, made him want to hold her like this, to keep her there forever. Something inside him, something hard and cold and aching like an old wound melted away. _

_ White-hot pain took him by surprise. He opened his eyes, stared at her in shock. She pulled back from him, a long, thin knife clutched in her left hand. She'd stabbed him in the back right through his single heart. Where had she gotten a knife? She looked at him then like she was lost, sad and lost and hurting._

_ "I'm sorry," she whispered as she cupped his cheek with her hand. Hot blood ran down his back and cold rain washed it away. "I'm so sorry. Remember, please remember." _

* * *

><p>He jerked awake. His hearts beat fast in his chest, his pulse pounded in his brain. Next to him Romana stirred sleepily.<p>

"Theta?" she murmured. He stroked her hair.

"Nothing, love," he replied softly. "Go back to sleep." He lay in his bed and stared at the ceiling of the TARDIS. It had felt so real, that dream. As a Time Lord he rarely slept, and lately what little sleep he managed was plagued by dreams. They were disturbingly realistic, but even more odd was the sensation of having only one heart. He rested a hand on either side of his chest. His hearts beat beneath his skin, strong and steady.

He slid out of bed as quietly as he could. No use waking Romana. Susan had been running them ragged lately. He smiled softly as his thoughts turned to his little girl, nestled in her bed in the room across from theirs. She was a wonder, a miracle, the first Gallifreyan child to be born in centuries—not that the Time Lords would see it that way. She was a freak to them, a problem, the unpredictable and dangerous offspring of an unpredictable and dangerous man. And what exactly made him dangerous? He dared to love—to find a woman who matched his hearts and not just his head, he dared to _feel_, to allow himself to experience emotions and not lock them away in favor of simple logic.

They were banished. Part of him was glad, he'd always felt restricted, suffocated on Gallifrey. It was a planet seemingly full of bureaucrats—tiny people making tiny rules because they were afraid of anything bigger than themselves. Part of him also ached to show his daughter the places he grew up, the orange sky and silver trees, the red grass. He shook off the melancholy as he found himself in the console room. His TARDIS was ancient, older than he was by thousands of years, and it always needed repair. He laid a hand affectionately on the console. "Hello girl," he said softly. The lights pulsed in response. He rolled up his sleeves an pulled his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket. "Let's take a look at those temporal stabilizers, shall we? They looked a bit dodgy last week." A sense of languid contentment settled over him as he slid beneath the humming control console. This was his home, the TARDIS and the women he loved.

* * *

><p>She remembered.<p>

She remembered her father and the reapers and Cassandra and the sun expanding and Gwenyth and Charles Dickens and the Slitheen and 'I could save the world but lose you' and chips and Jack and dancing and _dancing_ and Daleks and Cardiff and the game station and—oh. Yes. That.

She remembered golden light and a song that echoed—echoes—will echo—through all of creation. She remembered the pulse of the universe and the scream of the Dalek emperor as he was turned to dust. She remembered 'I bring life' and her decision that Jack would live, would always live, whether he'd like to or not. She remembered Him, his lips soft and cool against her own, the way he pulled the burning gold out of her. She remembered that he died.

She remembered that she killed him.

The world around her crumbled, dissolved in the force of her memories. It was a lie, all of it. Her father was dead and that version of the Doctor was dead and she was living in a parallel universe beyond their reach. It was a pretty little lie, designed to keep her complacent, wrapping her up in the love that she'd craved for so long, but it was a lie nonetheless.

Someone was in her head. She did not take kindly to that. Someone was lying to her. She liked that even less. It was a moot point now, though. The lies had no power over her, not any more. She saw them for what they were.

The brown-eyed man, her Doctor, her part-human Doctor, stood in front of her for a moment. He wavered like a mirage in the desert. "Find me," he whispered. "Save me, Rose." And then he was gone and she was alone in the dark. The walls pressed in on her, suffocating her. She opened her mouth and screamed.

* * *

><p><em>He was wandering again. He seemed to like to wander in his dreams. Of course, he liked to wander in real life, so perhaps his subconscious was just more obvious while he was dreaming. His last dream had been almost silent, but this one was awash with noise. Insects chirped and hummed, birds sang, and the underbrush crackled as he walked aimlessly, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Dappled sunlight painted the stubborn undergrowth in brilliant greens and deep shadows. A brook burbled somewhere out of sight, and he turned toward the sound. It was as good a destination as any. As he walked the ground became hillier and the forest was dotted with rocky outcroppings. <em>

_ It felt like he'd been walking for miles when he finally broke into a clearing, but time was always odd in dreams. The brook cut through one edge of the open space and separated him from the rest of the green. Wolf cubs played in the brightly lit space. Adult wolves lounged by the stream and atop a jagged pile of rocks. It was probably their den, he noted. They eyed him with interest, but not intent. A flash of movement caught his eye, and he realized that there was a person with the wolf cubs. It was the woman. She set a particularly playful cub down and stood. Her hair was shorter this time, and it hung in loose waves around her face. She was wearing a white sundress, a demure little thing that left her shoulders bare and ended just above her knees. She was wearing a wreath of plants on her head. _

_ "Hello?" he called. She held out her hand and gestured for him to come forward. He crossed the stream without difficulty and cautiously approached her. She was standing in the middle of the clearing, surrounded by the wolves. He had no desire to be anyone's lunch, even in a dream, but the animals made no move toward him. "I should know you," he said as he stood in front of her. "You seem so familiar. Why won't you tell me who you are?" _

_ She brought her other hand from behind her back and set a wreath on his head. "There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray, love, remember: and there is pansies. That's for thoughts," she murmured._

_ He took off the wreath and examined it. "And juniper for protection, hepatica flowers—beware, and oleander for anger." He replaced it on his head. "Quite an interesting assortment of flowers, added to rosemary and pansies, and wait a minute." He frowned. "That's from Hamlet. Usually I'm the one making the allusions." _

_ "Is that a fact?" she asked with a cheeky smile._

_ "Oh yes!" he replied. "And if you're using that quote that would make you Ophelia." He considered her. She looked the part—young, pretty, handing flowers to strangers—but she had flowers of her own. "Your wreath is quite interesting," he mused, "and a bit of a contradiction. I see gardenia—innocence, pink roses—desire, oak leaves—strength, and cypress for mourning or death." He took her hand. "You seem rather alive to me, of course, this is a dream, so I could be wrong. But," he returned to his previous train of thought, "if you're Ophelia, does that make me Hamlet?"_

_ She shook her head. "You're the king."_

_ "Claudius or Hamlet the elder?" he replied flippantly._

_ The strange girl studied him for a moment. "Both," she replied finally._

_ He frowned. "What? How can I be both? They're two distinct characters."_

_ "They're never on stage together," she pointed out and skipped away. "But you're wrong, you know."_

_ He followed her. "Wrong about what?"_

_ She turned to face him at the edge of the clearing, the trees casting her in shadow. "I'm not Ophelia, not only, anyway."_

_ He smiled at her, bemused. "Really? Who else are you?"_

_ "Little girl, little girl, where have you been? Gathering roses to give to the Queen. Little girl, little girl, what did she give you? She gave me a diamond as big as my shoe," she replied in a sing-song voice. He looked at her blankly and she frowned. "You have to remember. Please, say that you remember."_

_ "Remember what?" he asked. _

_ She shook her head. "That would be telling." He shifted his weight to take the first step towards her when a shaft of steel seemed to grow from her chest. Her eyes widened in shock and pain as a red stain spread around the blade protruding from her chest. "I love you," she whispered, and then the sword tilted down and she began to slide off of it, leaving a coat of red on the metal. He leaped forward and caught her body before she hit the ground. A thin line of red dripped from the corner of her mouth down her pale skin. More red stained his hands and his suit jacket. Loss clawed at him, savage and fierce for a girl he didn't know, couldn't remember. He turned his furious gaze on the killer and stared into his own eyes. _

_ He stood at the edge of the clearing holding a sword that was coated in blood and he knelt holding the girl that he'd killed. The him in the blue suit threw the sword at his feet, turned, and walked away. _

* * *

><p>He twitched as he woke and smacked his head into the bottom of the TARDIS's control console. He groaned as he rubbed his head. Blimey, he must have been more tired than he thought. He hadn't fallen asleep unintentionally in <em>years<em>, not since his first body. He frowned. How long ago was that-a millenia, more? He couldn't remember. Was it important, though?

The TARDIS hummed and he felt a concerned whisper in against his mind. He patted the metal reassuringly. "Not your fault," he assured her. "Just getting forgetful in my old age."

* * *

><p>Her heart was pounding and her pulse roared in her ears. Rose gulped air, fighting the panic that welled up within her. She was not in the Void. She was not alone. She could feel the walls behind her and the floor beneath her and nothing was trying to pull her under. The thick tentacles that had held her against the wall flopped away and hung limp. She staggered away from them and fell, scraping her knee and palms against the rough dirt floor. The momentary pain cut through her hysteria and brought her back to the present. The Doctor was nearby. She had to find him. She remembered the things pulling him away from her, but she couldn't see anything. She bit back a curse and closed her eyes, counting to one hundred. She needed to give her vision time to adjust before she blundered into something else.<p>

When she was finished counting she opened her eyes. It was still dark, but at least she could see a few feet in front of her. She glanced around the tunnel and her eyes fixed on a familiar form hanging from the opposite wall. "Doctor!" she cried, and ran to him. Thick, slimy tentacles held him against the wall. He was paler than usual she noticed, and he had a strange, goofy smile on his face. She shook his shoulder. There was no response. She called his name, she took his hand, she even slapped him, but he continued to hang limply with that blasted smile twisting his features. She felt like crying; she felt like screaming; she felt like punching the wall. None of those actions, however, would do any real good, and punching the wall would probably only break her knuckles and add another discomfort to her growing list.

The screwdriver! She rummaged through his pockets, not yet bigger-on-the-inside, and pulled out his reworked prototype. "Is there a setting for tentacles, Doctor?" she muttered sarcastically. None of the settings she knew of would help. She picked a random number and aimed it at the creatures. Nothing. She flipped through several more, all nothing. Rose almost chucked the shiny silver tube, but then she remembered how excited he'd been when he showed it to her. The tunnel swam in front of her eyes and she wiped the back of her hand across her face angrily. No. She was not that girl. She was Rose Tyler, Torchwood Agent, inter-universal time and space traveler. She would figure this out and save the Doctor. She was the Bad Wolf. She'd looked into the heart of the TARDIS, absorbed the Time Vortex, and ended the Time War. These slimy worm-things were nothing compared to that.

They were slimy worm things, slimy worm things that had _gotten into her head_. They were telepathic! They had to be, in order to construct that world around her, but they hadn't been able to mess with her mind until they were touching her. Right now they weren't affecting her because she was loose. Finally she was getting somewhere! She frowned as she stood in front of the Doctor, careful not to touch the tentacles. He was telepathic too, she remembered. He'd done that thing with Reinette to find out why the clockwork drones wanted her. How had he—right, he'd put his hands on her temples. Like the worm-things, he had to be touching someone to get into their head, and Reinette had been able to get right back into his!

She needed to snap him out of the trance or dream or whatever the worm-things had him in. They were generating some kind of telepathic field. If she touched him _and_ them, maybe she could get in there and find him. It wasn't much of a plan, and if her father had been there he would have ripped her a new one for trying it without any idea of what could happen, but it was the only plan she had. And anyway, it was the _Doctor_. She had to try.

Rose took a deep breath and placed one hand on his temple. With her other hand she grabbed one of the slippery tentacles. "See you in hell," she murmured, and then the world went black.

* * *

><p><em>He was dreaming again. He knew this with the abstract certainty one can posses only in dreams. A familiar ache rested where his second heart should be, and the single one that beat in his chest seemed sluggish. He was unsure why in his dreams he possessed only one heart. Was it symbolic, or prophetic? Gravel crunched under his trainers as he wandered down—well, up—the path. It seemed to lead to a house—a huge stone building, a derelict relic, a shrine. It was vaguely outlined against the overcast sky. Even from a distance he could tell that no one had lived there for many years. The roof was gone, and the pale yellow grass that lined the path was waist high. He was still far off—the house was perched on the edge of a cliff—almost precariously. The path sloped upwards the closer he came to the house. The wind howled and bayed around him, flattening the grass in undulating waves and bringing with it the smell of the sea. He shivered. The wind was cold. How long had it been since he was cold? <em>

_ A hand on his chest stopped his movement and his reverie. The palm sat firmly against his suit jacket, the fingers splayed wide. His eyes followed the hand up the smooth, pale arm to the soft lips drawn into a thin line to the deep blue eyes and the windswept, honey blonde hair. _

_ "Romana." _

_ "Stop." Her voice was low and soft and pleading. He blinked. Romana did not beg. "There is nothing down this path that you want to see. Please," her voice broke, "please. Go back." The pain in her words struck him, gave him pause, but something deeper than memory urged him on. He took her hand, lifted it to his lips, kissed it, and let it fall. She watched him, resigned, as he stepped around her and continued walking. He glanced back, and she was standing where he left her, arms clenched around herself. She looked forlorn and lost as the wind whipped her hair and the skirt of her deep blue dress. _

_ A small hand grasped his. He looked down. _

_ "Susan." _

_ The little girl tugged on his hand. "Come back to the TARDIS. Don't go!" Her eyes were bright with tears and her voice was tinged with desperation. He knelt beside her and kissed her on the forehead. She stared up at him with her huge dark eyes, imploring silently. He couldn't explain why he had to continue, not in a way she would understand. He didn't understand it himself, only knew that something was waiting for him. She said nothing when he stood and let go of her hand. "Grandfather," she whispered softly as he moved away. _

_ The closer he moved to the house, the steeper the path became. He was breathing heavily when he finally reached the top of the hill. The other side dropped away sharply, ending in a stretch of sandy beach. The smell of the sea was strong as the wind gusted around him. Leaden waves crested and crashed onto the sand. It was always a beach. He shuddered and turned away from the sea and the wind. _

_ A rose bush climbed up one whole wall of the house. It was massive and ancient. The trunk was as thick as his waist at the base, and branches the width of his arms wrapped around moldering stone. Vibrant green moss and bluish lichen speckled the granite blocks beneath the twisting branches. Amidst the white buds and green leaves was the woman he dreamed of._

_ She hung on the flowers like Christ crucified. Thick, thorny stems wrapped around her legs holding her just off the ground so that her face was level with his own. Her arms stretched out to either side in the mockery of the preparation for an embrace. Long thorns tore at the flimsy material of the delicate white dress she wore, lodged in her flesh and scraped the delicate skin of her neck. Her blood watered the rosebush, coated the pale flowers and made the branches slippery. She smiled at him, tangled in the vines, a twisted version of a fairy tale princess. _

_ He was no prince. He lacked the white horse, for one, although something prickled in his memory, something about France and clockwork robots. He cupped her cheek with one hand. "Who are you?" he asked. "Why won't you tell me your name? Why are you always dying? Why are you walking away?" _

_ She continued to smile at him, and then she said the words, the words that rocked through his entire being. "I want you safe, my Doctor. I want you to remember."_

_ "You're always saying that!" he snapped, suddenly angry. She knew him, knew the heart of him and he couldn't save her. He could never save her. Why was she doing this? Why was she sacrificing herself for him? _

_ "Please," she asked and pain clouded her eyes. "Please." _

_ His hand slipped from her cheek to the nape of her neck. "I don't even know your name," he murmured, and then his lips were against hers. He knew the moment she stopped breathing, the moment she died. Her blood was on his lips and in his mouth. It coated his hands and the front of his suit. He pulled away from her corpse and closed her eyes. _

* * *

><p><em>Rose hovered over the scene, a silent observer. She tried to reach for him, but she was intangible, a ghost in a dream. It was typical, she thought, as she watched him grieve. He cast her in the role of the victim, the innocent sacrifice that paid for his sins. Her mouth twitched. When would he learn? She wasn't some helpless bystander. She was Rose Tyler, Torchwood Agent, Bad Wolf, and Defender of the Earth. She died on that beach and like a phoenix she rose from the ashes of her old life and created a new one. <em>

_ She focused all of her concentration on the dead woman—she refused to think of the thing as herself. He was _hers_ and she would not leave him here, trapped in this strange limbo. _

* * *

><p><em>A strangled groan rent the still air. He whirled around. She remained tangled in the vines, but a strange golden glow seemed to radiate from her. "You will not have him," she rasped. The branches tightened but she continued to writhe. The glow strengthened and seemed to solidify. A sound that was something like pain seemed to come from inside his head. The branches shied away from the strange light. "Release him!" the woman said again. Her voice was louder, stronger. He thought it was odd that she would ask them—whoever they were—to let him go when she was the one restrained. <em>

_ Then she turned her face to the heavens and howled. The rosebush was on fire. Branches blackened and fell away, charred. Buds turned to ash, and she was free. She drifted to the ground and stood before him, barefoot, no sign of the vicious thorn barbs that had punctured her skin and drained away her life. Soft golden light shone from within her._

_ "Who are you?" he asked, awed. _

_ "Remember," she replied, and cupped his cheek in her hand. _

_ Images flashed through his brain, a slideshow on fast forward. Thoughts, feelings, sensations poured into him like water onto parched earth. They overwhelmed him, drove him to his knees, but they kept coming. Fire, death, hopelessness, pain, fury, revenge, and blood, so much blood. Romana, Susan, dead. Gallifrey was burning. Thousands upon thousands of Daleks in the sky. Arcadia had fallen. The silence thundered in his mind as his single heart raced. Old wounds he had thought were healed ripped open again and bled. _

_ He remembered. He remembered everything. Someone was about to have a very bad day. _


	4. Chapter 4: Ghost Stories

A/N: Nothing you recognize belongs to me!

* * *

><p>Chapter Four: Ghost Stories<p>

The Past

He squeezed her hand reassuringly. "We'll figure it out," he promised, sounding more confident than he actually felt. "You've got a great team, and one thing that you didn't have back then."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "And what would that be?"

He puffed out his chest. "Me. I'm brilliant, you know."

She laughed and the tension dissolved. "Right. You certainly are."

* * *

><p>Silence reigned in the second of Torchwood's compartments. Dominic was absorbed in some trashy paperback crime novel, Tosh was in the middle of her second Sudoku book, and Martha looked to be asleep. Greg sat next to the window, his arms crossed, and watched the countryside fly past. It felt like a dream sometimes, this job. Like a mad, wonderful, impossible dream and he caught himself regretfully thinking of what awaited him when he woke. He would be back in his hole-in-the-wall flat in a decidedly unpleasant part of London, waiting to head to his unsatisfying position on the police force.<p>

Right, wasn't supposed to call it the 'force' anymore, too aggressive-sounding. He snorted at the memory of the whingeing-voiced consultant. The man had obviously never actually been on the force, or he would have known better.

"Something funny?" Dominic asked in the breezy way that Greg was learning concealed interest.

He floundered for a moment, trying to come up with something they'd believe. "Just—alien. Him. Really?" Him meaning Doctor Smith, of course, although everyone called him 'the Doctor, just the Doctor, thanks.' The man was definitely eccentric and obviously brilliant, but alien? He looked so, well, human.

"Really," Dominic confirmed as he stuffed the book in his briefcase. "Ask Martha if you've still got doubts; she's his doctor."

"And he and the Commander…" his voice trailed off. He detested gossip, personally, but he needed to get a feel for the dynamics of this group. He'd been the new guy before, but then he only had to acclimate to a different environment. Taking the position at Torchwood required assimilating an entirely new worldview. And as they were still understaffed, he had to do so on the fly.

"Listen to you two," Tosh commented as she evidently gave up on Sudoku. "You're chattering worse than the interns do."

"And they say women are gossips," Martha put in with a dry smile, her eyes still closed.

"How else am I supposed to find out the important stuff?" Greg protested, all smiles. Martha liked him so far. He was funny and clever and he hadn't yet lost the brash belief all of them started with—the idea that humans were highest on the food chain. As hard as orientation tried, they never quite beat it out of new recruits, not until their first encounter when everything went pear-shaped and they were running for their lives. "And not that shite they tell you when you get recruited; I mean the really important bits, like is it permissible to date your coworkers, or how do I get on the Commander's good side, or where do we go to unwind after a job?" He flashed them another smile.

Tosh sighed. "One, it used to be forbidden, but Pete's pretty flexible, just don't let it interfere with your work. It's not exactly great to date in your own team, but some people seem to be able to handle it."

"Two," Martha took over, "don't let her hear you calling her 'Commander.' She hates it. Even Ianto calls her 'Rose,' and he's about as strict with protocol as you can get. Play it straight with her and she'll play it straight with you."

"Three," it was Dominic's turn. "We go wherever we want." He glanced at his watch. "If you're going to catch a nap, I'd do it now. Thirty minutes until we reach Cork."

"I'm just," Greg paused, gathering his thoughts. "I'm just trying to wrap my head around this," he admitted. "Everything is happening so fast."

"You'd better get yourself sorted quick," Dominic replied, all traces of humor gone. "Whatever we're looking at, it's going to be bad."

The other man looked puzzled. "How do you mean?"

"She hasn't briefed us yet," Tosh explained quietly. "Usually it's the first thing she does, but not this time. Either no-one had told her the situation—which I don't believe for a second—or she's hoping they'll come up with different information by the time we get there."

Dominic leaned forward. "My sister is Commander of Torchwood Belfast, which is where we're heading. She and Rose were partners for a year before Rose was promoted, and during that time something happened in Cardiff—something that wiped out the entire team working Torchwood Three." Tosh nodded. She had heard whispers. Martha and Greg were looking at Dom with wide eyes. They were too new to know the office ghost stories. "Rose and Abby were assigned to the case."

"What was it?" Martha asked in a hushed voice.

Dom shrugged. "Don't know. Abby changes the subject whenever I ask, and Rose threatened to put me on desk duty for a week the last time I pestered her about it."

Martha grinned. "Torture."

"Truly," he agreed. "A fate worse than death." The playful smile drained from his face. "Whatever it was," he continued, "it gave her nightmares for months."

"You think they're connected?" Greg asked.

Dominic considered. "I think," he said slowly, "that whatever we're looking at, we should be prepared for the worst. They wouldn't send a whole team, especially a team including one of Torchwood's best agents and an alien super-genius, out for anything simple."

* * *

><p>Amidst the chaos of Cork station four people stood like boulders on the beach. The tides of humanity swirled and crested around them but they remained unmoved. Well, they remained unmoved until they caught sight of their compatriots. Then a tall, dark haired woman embraced Rose and her team moved forward to greet their coworkers. Names and handshakes were exchanged and the group moved to continue their introductions in the comfort and privacy of the company car.<p>

The Doctor sighed as he caught sight of their vehicle—a large, black SUV. Some things, apparently never changed. "At least it doesn't have 'Torchwood' written on it in large white letters," he muttered.

Rose blinked. "Seriously, Jack lets his team run around like that?"

"Oh yes," he replied dryly. "A master of subtlety, our Jack."

"Would that be Captain Jack Harkness?" Abigail asked. "Now him I would like to meet."

The Doctor rolled his eyes, but he considered her carefully. Abigail Cross was not what he expected. To be honest, when Rose talked about her he pictured someone more like her younger brother, who was a bit of a watered-down version of said Captain. Oh, he liked Dominic well enough; the man was competent and funny, even if his eyes wandered a bit more than strictly necessary, but he was relieved to see that _someone_ in the family could see beyond the end of a skirt—figuratively speaking, of course. "Where are we headed?" he asked as they piled into the vehicle.

A muscle in Abby's jaw twitched. "Talamh Caillte first, that's the village. We're holed up in one of the local bed and breakfasts. The trouble, though, is centered around Blackthorn woods. It's located just outside the village, and it's old. There's been a forest on that site for ages." She glanced back at him. "On the old maps it's labeled 'Foraoise na Marbh'—Forest of the Dead."

* * *

><p><span>The Present<span>

Rose stumbled away from the Doctor. Disconnected images swirled through her mind's eye like shards of brightly colored glass. And they hurt—God, they hurt. It was like her head was stuffed, almost like after Cassandra had forced her way into Rose's mind. Faces she knew but had never seen swam before her eyes. Emotions that weren't her own thundered through her. It was like being on a tilta-whirl, drunk, surrounded by a slideshow of someone's life. Hands grasped her shoulders. She tried to pull away, her eyes closed tightly and her hands pressed against her temples in a futile effort to stop the pain. The hands pulled her closer to a warm body. A voice murmured soothing nonsense as the person cradled her and she waited for the pain in her head to stop. When she could breathe again she relaxed against the Doctor—without the haze of pain and panic she recognized his voice and the slightly scratchy fabric of his suit jacket.

"I'm sorry," he said softly as he stroked her hair. "I'm so sorry."

"What," she gasped, blinking away the last of the tears that dripped down her cheeks, "what _was_ that?"

"Memories," he responded. "My memories."

"Why did they hurt?" She rested her cheek against his chest.

He tensed and his hold on her tightened. "I'm more than nine-hundred years old, Rose. I'm closer to twelve-hundred—it gets fuzzy after the first millennia. Most of those memories were locked away—hidden—and then you yanked them out into the open again." He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers. "The human mind isn't designed to handle that kind of contact, at least, yours isn't. I met this boy in 1913, Timothy Latimer. He was a low-level psychic, and he _might_ have been able to cope with what you did, but your brain wasn't made that way, and you're inexperienced. You didn't sever the link in time and my memories don't belong in your head. The pain is your brain attempting to assimilate those memories—to protect itself."

"Are you going to take them away?" she asked tentatively.

He shook his head. "I think we've both had enough things mucking about with our brains for one day." He paused. "If you want me to, I'll remove them. If you don't, I won't." He stroked her hair again. "I won't do anything without your permission."

She let the breath she hadn't known she was holding out. "What are they, anyway?" she asked after a while.

"Thwrestle," he replied. "Telepathic predators." He flashed the sonic on her wrist where the tentacles had held her. Tiny punctures ran in a line around her arm. "They feed on psychic energy—pleasant emotions, and on their prey's fluids, like a lamprey." He buzzed the sonic at her and the wounds closed.

"That itches," she complained.

"Better than them getting infected," the Doctor replied. "We weren't out for more than a few hours, so we should be alright. If you feel off at all let me know."

"Hours?" Rose asked incredulously. "Felt like days." She rubbed the still-tender new skin on her arm. "We need to find Abby and the others."

"Yes," he agreed, "but if we pass out from dehydration and get caught we won't be any help to anyone." He finished closing up the Thwrestle's punctures. "How's your side?"

"I think it's stopped bleeding," she replied. Rose touched the rend in her shirt lightly and winced.

"Let me see," he ordered. Normally she would resent the tone he took with her, but they were lost in a network of unknown tunnels facing aliens that seemed to exist outside of time. The Doctor's natural tendency towards bossiness was really the leas of their problems. Obediently she lifted her shirt. Once again he used the sonic as a torch. He frowned and gently traced the outline of the long gash in her left side. She hissed in pain. "Still bleeding," he told her softly, "but slower now. Better patch it up—who knows what nasty germs are living down here."

"Cheery thought, that," she commented dryly.

"That's me," he agreed brightly. "I'm a barrel of laughs. Or is it a barrel of monkeys?" His tone shifted, becoming serious again. "Rose, I'm sorry, but this is going to tingle a bit. Try not to move. It'll go fast if you keep still."

'Tingle' was not the word. 'Burn' was more appropriate. She felt like her side was on fire, but she gritted her teeth and remained as still as she possibly could. After what felt like forever the sonic switched off and the Doctor straightened. "All done," he announced.

"Right." She pulled her shirt back down over the newly-healed flesh of her side. "Let's start looking."

* * *

><p>At first they wandered. The Doctor tried scanning for life-forms with the sonic but gave up after his third attempt failed. Too much interference dampening the signal, he said. He would not tell her what could interfere with a sonic screwdriver, but his expression was grim.<p>

"I get that those Thre—Thrwer—"

"Thwrestles," he supplied.

"Yeah," she nodded, although as he was in front of her she knew he couldn't see. "Thwrestles. They're like lampreys an' all, but do they have to be _slimey_?" She let disgust color her voice.

"Neurotoxin," he replied tersely. Oh, it was bad when he was closemouthed. "It makes you more susceptible to suggestion, easier to influence."

"So how'd I do it?" she asked after a moment. "They drugged me and locked me inside my head, neat trick that, so how'd I get out?"

"Humans." She could hear the smile in his voice. "You're not telepathic, not yet, and that makes it harder for them. They evolved on a planet where the dominant species—the human equivalent—was telepathic, like me. I've got shields up, mental shields, but I was expecting more of a frontal assault. Thwrestles aren't exactly brilliant, you know, not by human standards and definitely not by Time Lord standards. They're more along the lines of wolves or wild dogs."

"But then how," she began.

"Yes, how did they manage to slip past my defenses and lock me in my own head?" he continued. Rose nodded.

Know your enemy, she thought. The more they knew, the better prepared they would be.

"A whisper here, a suggestion there, a little bit of chemical warfare…" He shrugged. "Most of what we saw was our minds working against us."

She shivered. "That's frightening."

He shook his head. "We know what to look for now, and I'm much more alert, thanks to you." She frowned. He was tense, so tense that she could almost feel him vibrating like a violin string beneath her hand. "No, Rose," he replied to her unspoken question. It was eerie how well he read her. "I'm not worried about the Thwrestles. They're a nuisance, but worse, they're indicative of alien presence. They didn't get to Earth on their own—haven't got the technology or the brain power." He paused and once more checked the sonic. Nothing. "There's something else here, something old, something powerful." He turned to her, his face stony in the faint light of the screwdriver. "Something out of Time. And I haven't the faintest idea what it is."


	5. Chapter 5: The Taste of Fear

A/N: Nothing you recognize belongs to me! Some spoilers for "Silence in the Library" and "Forest of the Dead" in Doctor Who. Also some spoilers for "Small Worlds" in Torchwood!

* * *

><p>Chapter Five: The Taste of Fear<p>

The Past

Talamh Caillte was a small village just off Ireland's West coast. It reminded the Doctor very much of an island. On three sides it was surrounded by Blackthorn Woods and on the fourth was the cliffs and the sea. It was almost completely cut off from the world.

"Talamh Caillte means 'Lost Land' in Irish," he told Rose. "Suits the place." She nodded. It was almost like stepping back in time. There were few cars on the street. Instead, most of the people they passed rode bicycles or walked.

"They have a vested interest in keeping it quaint," Abby commented from the front of the SUV. "Their biggest industry is tourism." She gestured around them as the SUV rumbled down the main street and pulled into a lot in front of a cheery-looking inn.

The Doctor could understand why the locals would try to capitalize on the surrounding landscape. The view from the cliffs was spectacular. Leaden swells crashed against jagged rock. The process of erosion was too slow for the human eye to observe, but he could feel it in his bones. A few thousand years n the future and a sandy beach would replace the broken boulders that littered the base of the cliffs. Apart from the natural beauty there didn't seem to be much in the way of industry in Talamh Caillte. A few shops fronted the main road—a butcher, a small grocer, and what looked to be a marketplace off to the side caught his interest. There were other shops as well—clothing and trinkets and a leatherworker's. There was evidence that horses or other large livestock were nearby—a country vet had an office next to the local doctor.

He frowned as they exited the car. It was beautiful, in a forbidding kind of way, but beneath the apparent serenity was a pulsing awareness. Eyes flickered toward them and then away. People continued on their path as far from the newcomers as possible and there was a taste, a metallic taste in the back of his throat. Rose glanced at him as he stood just beside the car, eyes far away, his entire body taught, like a spaniel pointing.

"Doctor?" she asked tentatively.

He shook himself like a dog coming out of water, and smiled at her. "Nothing. Just thought I saw something, is all." He glanced around at the others who were waiting for him expectantly. "We'd best go inside then." She seemed content with his answer, although the slight downward twitch of her lips betrayed her disbelief. She read him too well, Rose. Even after years of searching, she knew him with an intimacy that would have been frightening, had she been anyone else. They filed into the appealing bed-and-breakfast and he hazarded one last look before the door closed behind him. How did that line from Hamlet go? He couldn't speak for Denmark now, but one thing was certain. There was something rotten in Talamh Caillte. An electric undercurrent of fear ran throughout the entire town.

* * *

><p>They gathered in the room that Abby shared with Alexis Travell, a young woman formerly of the Royal Irish Constabulary. She was bright and chipper, although her smile felt somewhat forced. Her team consisted of Alexis, Arthur Davis—extraterrestrial linguist specialist, and Daniel Carver—tech expert. The Doctor counted two people missing, one of them the team's doctor. Torchwood teams never had fewer than six people, including the commanding officer, and there were three suitcases on the floor of the room. It was a comfortably sized space. The door opened on one of the long sides, just beyond the foot of the first bed. A nightstand separated the two twin bunks and a small table and chair sat off to the side. Stacks of files and bits of machinery littered the table and the dresser that stood against the short wall perpendicular to the beds. The Doctor's fingers itched to fiddle with them, but he knew that Rose would be cross if he did, so he restrained himself. It was a bit odd, her being in charge. Everywhere they'd gone he had automatically stepped into the role of leader, and she'd followed. Oh, he knew that she would be good at leading people—she knew how to motivate them and her compassion inclined others to listen to her. Traveling the Void and working with Torchwood had given her confidence, allowed her a <em>gravitas<em> that her younger self had lacked.

Abby and Rose stood in front of the beds while the rest of the teams sat on the mattresses. The Doctor watched his lover, concern deepening the small lines that clustered at the corners of his eyes and mouth. Her lips were drawn tight, betraying her strain, and she looked weary. Abby nodded to her, and Rose pulled the curtain shut over the wide picture window that took up most of the long wall opposite the door and turned off the lights.

Tosh looked around, and then raised her hand tentatively. "Shouldn't we wait for the others to show up before we start the debriefing?" she asked.

Abby shook her head. "I'll explain after we're done." She clicked a remote and an image was projected on the wall next to her. "How many of you are familiar with the Cottingley fairy photos?" Hands went up, followed by eyebrows.

"But that's a hoax!" Dominic protested. "An obvious hoax! The girls who were responsible admitted it, for Christ's sake!"

"Patience, little brother." Abagail's voice was deceptively calm. "We're leading up to something a little more concrete, I promise. And yes," she addressed the rest of the group, "the children did admit that they staged these photos. However, they went to their graves asserting that fairies were, in fact, real."

"You're not suggesting," Martha began, but stopped when Rose shook her head. Abby clicked the remote again and another image flashed into place on the wall. The Doctor frowned; he knew the location. It was the hub beneath the Millennium Center in Cardiff, Wales. It was Torchwood Three's secret base. It looked like it had been hit by a tornado. Furniture lay strewn throughout the large center room, most of it broken. Papers were everywhere and scattered on the floor and over desks were bodies. Six bodies. Their eyes were open, faces contorted in fear and desperation. Flower petals burst from their mouths and littered the debris around them. It was grotesque and his heart went out to Rose. Scenes like that were enough to give him pause—she probably knew some of the people in the picture. Being the first one on the scene must have been awful.

"Two years ago an unknown assailant successfully assassinated the team that ran Torchwood three," Rose said after a moment of silence to let them assimilate what they were being shown. Abby cycled through more images: close ups of the dead, the battered room from different angles, a scientific diagram of the flower to which the petals belonged—a climbing rose commonly known as the 'Red Fountain.' The petals looked like blood dripping from a corpse's mouth and settling on the floor. "Originally we considered it an isolated incident, perhaps a phenomenon related to Cardiff's location on the rift." She paused. "Nothing was taken, nor were any alarms disturbed."

"That's impossible," Dominic claimed. "Torchwood Three is impregnable once the door is shut and the lift is disabled."

"Impregnable or not, that's the truth," Rose replied shortly. "We were mistaken, about the isolated nature of the deaths. Further research uncovered a pattern: every twenty-five years a child went missing. The disappearances coincided with strange weather patterns and often bizarre deaths, many in the style of what happened at Torchwood Three. The weather patterns match as well: rainstorms from nowhere, cyclones and tornadoes that strike with surgical precision, fog that not only cuts of sight up also seems to affect electrical equipment."

"Rose and I put the pattern together after we were assigned to the case," Abby continued. "We were the first on scene. Two weeks ago one of the researchers at the Torchwood archive in Glasgow discovered evidence of similar occurrences centered around this village." An ironic smile twisted her lips. "It was a 'happy coincidence' that I was here—first hand experience and all that nonsense. My team and I started investigating, and then two of our group disappeared yesterday." She nodded to Daniel, who produced a digital voice recorder. "This is the last evidence of contact we have. Leigh and Sean were presumably checking out rumors of suspicious remains discovered in the forest when they made this call." Daniel pressed 'play.'

Static issued from the recorder, interspersed by what sounded like heavy breathing and the occasional frightened cry. "Abby…coming…fog, can't….shadows!...count the shadows…moving, oh God…" and then there was a crash—presumably one of them dropping the phone—and a scream that cut off suddenly before the recording ended.

Rose turned on the lights. "So," she began heavily. "Now we're on the same page."

"That was Leigh screaming," Alexis said flatly. "She screamed at everything, even mice."

Abby put a hand on the other woman's shoulder. "We're going to find her, Ally." Her tone allowed no opposition.

Alexis nodded. "I know, boss lady. Just nerves."

The Doctor was staring at the wall intently, his face paler than usual. "Is that the only time anyone has mentioned shadows?" he asked. The others blinked at him.

"I'm not sure," Abigail responded. "Is it important?"

"Everything's important right now," he replied. "We need more information. I can't possibly narrow it down with this."

"You've got an idea." Rose was standing in front of him, her hands resting on his shoulders. "I know that look. You've got an idea and you don't want to share."

He did not meet her eyes. "A while back I ran into someone else who told me to 'count the shadows.' Everyone besides Donna and I died."

She sat on the mattress next to him. The others remained silent, although the force of their curiosity was almost palpable. "What happened?"

"It was the Vashta Narada." His voice was harsh when he finally spoke. "Means 'the Shadows that Devour,' because that's what they do. Every planet has them. Usually you find them in forests—they breed on trees, in the bark and the new growth. Most of the time they feed on roadkill and the like, but sometimes they manage to swarm together." He looked up at her then, his eyes flat and dark. "That's when there's trouble. And the swarm—the swarm looks like a shadow. If it is the Vashta Narada, then there's only one thing you can do." She waited for him to finish. He knew she was expecting a plan, some clever quip like 'hannibal' had been with the Slitheen. "You run. Evacuate everyone in the vicinity and quarantine Blackthorn Woods."

"You faced them before," she pointed out. "Did you run then?"

He ran a hand through his hair angrily. "I was back in our original universe, Rose. I bluffed my way out of that one—traded on my reputation." He glanced around the room. "Here—here I'm an unknown."

"These things," Abby broke in. "Did they do anything else? Strange weather, electrical interference?"

The Doctor shook his head. "No, that's not their modus operandi. Doesn't mean that it isn't them, but it could be something else as well." His lips twisted into a tight smile. "I hope it is, for all our sakes."

* * *

><p>Abby had sent them to their respective rooms for the night. "Tomorrow morning we're up with the sun," she warned, "and straight to work." Some of them, most notably Dominic and Alexis, had wanted to pursue the matter then and there, but she shook her head. "We're all stretched thin. We need time to recoup and to think. Trust me, little brother. A night's rest will do everyone good."<p>

"But Leigh and Sean are still out there!" Alexis protested.

"I know, Ally." Abby's voice was sympathetic, but firm. "And if we blunder around out there, tired as we are, we're as like to fall into a trap as to find them. I don't want to lose anyone else, and that's final." The other woman grudgingly acknowledged Abby's point, and then they were all dismissed.

* * *

><p>It was considerate of her to let them share a single room alone. The Doctor was glad as he and Rose went through the incredibly domestic process of getting ready for bed that no one else was there. Thinking about what had happened in the Library had shaken him more than he believed it could. Meeting someone from his future was always difficult—there were so many questions that he knew he <em>couldn't<em> ask—but meeting someone who claimed the intimate relationship that River Song had, well, it didn't happen. He wasn't like that—except that he was, now. He didn't want to believe her, when it happened, hadn't wanted to admit that he would love anyone else, even though he knew that it was likely he would. Rose had been gone, well and truly gone, and if he was careful he would live for thousands of years. It was statistically impossible for him to spurn all romantic opportunities. Other Time Lords had managed it, but he was always a rebel.

But she was _Rose_, and if anyone could force him into the impossible, it was her. River's sacrifice had hurt him, the knowledge that yet again someone he cared—would care—about had to die to save his life burned like precious little else could. But wrapped up in his grief and pain was guilt. He loved someone else. Why did that feel like betrayal? Perhaps sending him to be with her allowed his other self to move on. Perhaps he was content knowing that his double was with the woman who had saved him in so many ways.

"You're quiet," Rose commented, drawing him out of his thoughts. She stood in front of him, hair pulled back in a ponytail, face washed clean of makeup. She looked the most beautiful just before and just after she slept. She had toned down her mascara, but he still thought of her attentions as war paint, as an attempt to hide what was naturally stunning.

"Oh, you know me," he responded, tone falsely bright. Maybe she wouldn't notice. "Lots of things going on in my great big brain. Get a bit distracted, now and again."

"It's about the—Vashta Narada," she said confidently. He flinched reflexively and she nodded. "I thought so." She grabbed his hand and pulled him down onto the bed. He let himself fall, his back flat against the mattress. She rested her head on his chest and twined her fingers through his. "Tell me," she instructed.

He did. He told her about the message followed by a kiss, about the wonders that the library held. He told her about sending Donna away and getting her trapped in CAL's database. He told her about River Song and how she died, how everyone died. He told her how CAL was really a child, how she saved everyone just like her father had wanted to save her. Finally he told her who River Song was, who she had to be, to him. "But I never saw her again," he finished. "She's somewhere out there, waiting."

Rose was quiet for a long time. Her free hand stroked his arm, drew little patterns over the striped jim-jams she'd insisted buying him. They reminded her of Howard's, she'd said, and that Christmas Day. "That's good." Her voice was quiet and he had to strain to hear her. "That's good," she repeated. "I don't—I don't want him to be alone. I never wanted you to be alone." There were tears in her voice, although the cloth over his chest remained dry. "I know I was jealous of Martha and Donna, and that was wrong, because I never, ever wanted you to be alone. It just—it hurt, because I wanted to be there. I never wanted to leave you."

He wrapped his free arm around her and stroked her hair. "If that blasted lever hadn't slipped," he replied quietly, "I would never have wanted you to leave. You did so much for me, Rose. I was broken and angry, and you made me better. He still loves you. He'll always love you, just like I will."

"It's like Mum," she said after a moment. "I used to be angry at her—she had all these boyfriends, different one a week it seemed like, and I thought that she didn't love my dad, not really, not if she could stand to be with those _men_." He opened his mouth to speak, but she felt the movement, the deeper breath he took in preparation, and 'shushed' him peremptorily. "But loving someone else doesn't mean that she stopped loving dad. Pete isn't the same, not exactly, and she's not the same as the other Jackie was." She paused for a moment and he remained silent. "I guess, I guess what I'm trying to say is that love isn't finite. It's not like everybody's born with a limited supply, and they have to take from one love to give to another. Love just gets bigger to let the other person in."

He smiled against her hair. "When did you get so smart?" he asked playfully.

"I was always this smart," she shot back. "You're just thick."

"That's me," he agreed. "Slow on the uptake."

"You get there," she replied as she tilted her head up to look at him, a wicked grin on her face. "Eventually."

And then he kissed her, and there were no more words that night.


	6. Chapter 6: Into the Labyrinth

A/N: Nothing you recognize belongs to me!

* * *

><p>Chapter Six: Into the Labyrinth<p>

The Past

As instructed they woke with the sun the next morning. The Doctor smiled as Rose grumbled. In any universe Rose Tyler was not a morning person. He glanced out the window while she showered and was surprised to note that the village was already busy. People were setting up stalls in the marketplace, washing shop front windows and setting up displays, and generally moving about. He watched them for a moment before he opened the window just a tad. It was there, on the wind—the same ugly metallic flavor in the air that he had noticed on their arrival in Talamh Caillte. It was the taste of fear. The town looked peaceful enough, but he knew better than most that appearances were frequently deceiving.

* * *

><p>The ride to Sean and Leigh's last known location was silent. Everyone was on edge. The disappearances were bad enough, but if they were connected to either the fairy-creatures (although they couldn't be fairies—fairies didn't exist) or the Vashta Narada then things were about to get very interesting. What was that old curse—may you live in interesting times? He didn't see what was so bad about that—wouldn't it be far worse to live when nothing at all happened and you felt like you were going to combust with sheer boredom? Sometimes he felt like he understood people completely, and then they went and did something like make having an interesting life sound <em>bad<em> and he realized once again that he understood nothing at all.

Thankfully, while one part of his impressive Time Lord brain was pondering the contradictions inherent in human wisdom another part was focused on the task at hand: namely, on figuring out what the hell they were up against and how exactly he was going to rescue two people and stop whoever/whatever it was when he hadn't the faintest clue what he was doing. He was good at improvising even if he was rubbish at plans, though, so he was sure he'd come up with something brilliant just in the nick of time.

Because that was how he lived his life—moment to moment. He didn't plan for the future because the universe never seemed to align with his plans and wasn't there another human saying about plans? Focus, Doctor, he chided himself. Even his thoughts babbled. The bit of him that was Donna was constantly exasperated by his inability to maintain one train of thought for more than a nanosecond. What human beings didn't understand was the sheer volume of thoughts his brain could contain. How could they? The silly things only used a tenth of their true potential.

* * *

><p>After about ten minutes he had exhausted his ability to sit still and began to fidget. Rose laid a comforting hand on his leg and produced a Sudoku book. He beamed at her. It took him another ten minutes to work his way through the book, in pen, of course, but by then they'd arrived.<p>

"This is as close to the GPS coordinates as we can get," Abby explained after she'd pulled the SUV to the side of the dirt road and they exited the vehicle. "The trees are too dense up ahead for easy driving, and there isn't enough of a need for anyone to clear a proper road."

Daniel pulled out a GPS tracker. "Hope you brought your hiking boots. It's a bit of a trek yet."

* * *

><p>The walk had started out pleasantly flat, but after twenty minutes the ground began to slope. As they wove around trees and the rocky outcroppings that were becoming more frequent the further in they ventured, Alexis began to speak. "Sean was telling me some stories before he and Leigh vanished." She paused for a moment to catch her breath. The Doctor wasn't winded at all, thanks to his still mostly superior physiology, and Rose had been running for her life for years, but these others weren't quite used to that level of exertion. "His gran lived the next town over and she'd tell him these fairy stories."<p>

Greg snorted. "Fairy tales, really?"

"Don't be so quick to dismiss them," the Doctor put in.

"But they're just stories!" the other man protested.

"Ah, but stories are important." The Doctor dropped back to walk between Alexis and Greg. "Fairy tales, for example, perpetuate social norms and carry warnings forward. Take Hansel and Gretel—don't wander off in the woods and accept presents from strangers. In cultures without a written language or where the majority of the population can't read or write, the oral tradition is pivotal." He turned to Alexis. "Go on, then. What was Sean talking about?"

"He said—he said that there were stories about people getting taken. The fairies would come into the village at night and pull people from their beds. They'd take them back to their home under the hill and no one would ever hear from them again." She swallowed. "He said that people would leave offerings, food and stuff, to keep the fairies away, to keep them in the woods. They would draw lots and someone would be bound to the tree every year. As long as there were offerings, the fairies stayed away, left them in peace, but people forgot. His gran was one of the last, he said, who remembered the old stories."

"There _have_ been a lot of missing person's reports from this area," Daniel said. He was walking behind them and he'd been so quiet that they had almost forgotten he was there. "Most of them were tourists and the like, but there were a few locals as well. Almost all of them list the forest as their last known location."

"Any kind of pattern to the disappearances?" the Doctor asked sharply.

Daniel shook his head. "No, that's why I didn't think it was connected. Those fairy-things from Cardiff had a distinct, regular pattern. These are all over the place."

"Just because we don't see the pattern doesn't mean it isn't there," the Doctor muttered. He ran a hand through his unruly hair. "When did they start?"

"They go back for decades," Daniel responded, "but there's a marked increase about a hundred and twenty years ago. Before that there were occasional reports of people wandering into the forest and not out again, but after that the numbers triple."

"That would fit with Sean's story," Alexis said.

"Yes," the Doctor agreed, "and it would also coincide with a stronger British presence. I don't think the authorities would have taken kindly to human sacrifice. Of course the stories wouldn't have stopped until at least a generation later, hence Sean's gran. Bridget Cleary was burnt as a changeling in 1895, after all." The three of them looked at him in shock. "Yes, well, remember what I said about fairy tale's place in society? They labeled her a changeling because she failed to conform to expected societal roles." He frowned. "I have the feeling, though, that the stories might be a little more literal in this case."

* * *

><p>The coordinates led to a clearing right against one of the rocky, almost-mountains that pierced the center of Blackthorn woods. The GPS tracker flickered and then died. Daniel shook it experimentally but nothing happened. "I put in fresh batteries before we left," he said as he examined the device. Tosh checked her cell phone on a hunch.<p>

"No reception," she murmured.

"My watch is acting funny," Alexis called.

"Digital?" the Doctor asked. She nodded. "I think we'll find that almost all of our more modern technology isn't working quite right."

"Doctor?" Martha called. She was standing a bit apart, staring hard at the rough surface of the not-quite-mountain in front of them. "I think you'll want to take a look at this."

"And you're sure it was here?" Abby questioned Daniel.

He nodded. "The machine doesn't lie. At least, it doesn't when it'll turn on."

The Doctor trotted over to join Martha. "What is it?"

She pointed at the rock in front of them. "I think I know where they went."

He followed the direction of her finger and his eyes widened. There was a door carved into the rock, and it was made with technology that was most definitely _not_ of human origin.

* * *

><p><span>The Present<span>

They were going in circles. The worry that had been eating away at the edges of her mind dripped down her spine and pooled in the pit of her stomach. Abby stared at the necklace—Martha's—that she'd hung at the crossroads to mark their passage. That was two hours ago, two hours of wandering, and they were right back where they started. They were lost. Behind her Martha and Arthur supported Daniel, who was suffering from a broken leg and two broken ribs. Alexis brought up the rear. She was muttering something and every few minutes she would jerk and look around wildly. After they finished this job and got the hell out of the tunnels, Abby vowed, she was giving the whole team two weeks off. London could pull some floaters to cover for them.

Something skittered across the tunnel floor in front of her. She jumped, but the light from her torch revealed nothing. She shook her head. It was the tunnels, it had to be. They were making her as bad as Alexis. The woman was always a bit jumpy, and the prolonged tension they'd been under was _not_ helping.

"Abby!" Martha called out. "We need to stop for a bit."

She nodded. "Go ahead and take a breather, everyone." Martha and Arthur set Daniel down gently and Abigail knelt beside them. "How is he?" she asked in a low voice.

"Still unconscious," Martha responded as she checked his pulse and temperature. "The drug should last for another hour or so, but he needs proper medical attention." She gestured at his chest. "If we jostle him wrong that rib could shift and puncture his lung. I've bound it up as best I can and cobbled together a splint for his leg, but the equipment I've got is rudimentary at best." She sighed. "We need to get out of here, and soon."

Abby ground her teeth together in frustration. "Believe me, I know. This place is a bloody maze!"

"Have you," Arthur began tentatively, "have you been hearing things?"

The two women looked at him. "Like what?" Martha asked.

He glanced around, making sure Alexis wasn't within hearing distance. "Like—voices. Things that aren't there. Maybe seeing shadows at the corner of your eye."

Abby nodded slowly. Martha bit her lip, and did the same. "Thought it was just my imagination," the young doctor said with a self-depreciating smile.

"Thought maybe I was losing my grip," Abby admitted.

"I have too," Arthur confirmed. "But it can't be, not if all three of us are experiencing it, whatever it is."

"Unless we've all gone mad, but that's not likely," Abby mused.

"I feel like, like we're being watched," Martha added.

Abby snorted. "Well, whatever it is, I'm tired of playing its game." She stood and brushed the dirt off the knees of her pants. "If we don't get out of here soon I'm going to start making my own rules."

* * *

><p>In another part of the tunnels, the Doctor and Rose paused at a crossroads. The tunnel widened into a vast cavern in front of them, and there were two exits. One they had come through earlier. Rose shivered, but not from cold, although the air was damp and chill. "No sign of them," she reported.<p>

The Doctor nodded. "Didn't expect there would be," he admitted. "But we had to be sure."

Rose bent and picked up the torch. She had dropped it in their flight. "Which way do you think they went?"

The Doctor shook his head. "Don't know. I was more concerned with getting you out of there." The attack had been sudden and fierce and the only thing they could do was run.

"D'you think they'll be back, those things?" Rose flicked the switch on the side of the torch and was rewarded with a strong beam of white light.

"Don't know," the Doctor replied with a shrug. He was studying one side of the wall, the side they'd come from. Rose shone the torch at him and blanched. There was blood on the tunnel wall, a long streak of red, red blood. "Fresh," he commented. "Probably yours."

"But it could be—"

"Yes of course," he interrupted. "Of course it _could_ belong to Dominic or Tosh or Greg, but it probably doesn't." He touched one finger to the bloodstained wall and then to his tongue. Rose grimaced in disgust as he spat on the dirt floor.

"A negative, that narrows it down."

"I'm A negative," Rose volunteered.

"Yes, I know," he responded, an absent look on his face. "So is Greg." She let that information slide past, although it sent another chill down her spine. It would be really rotten for him to die on his first mission. She liked him. He seemed like a decent bloke, although a bit boastful, but his first mission would take that out of him. There'd been enough death recently. She had no desire to attend another funeral.

"So, which way?" she asked.

He jumped. "Oh! Right." The Doctor considered the two paths in front of them, and then strode to the opening of the one on the left. "This one, I think."

"Any particular reason?"

He grinned at her. "Eeny, meeny, miny, mo?"

Rose rolled her eyes and grabbed a loose rock from the floor. She scratched an arrow on the cavern wall pointing to the tunnel on the left. "In case they come back," she explained, "and look for us."

"Good thinking!" He reached out to her and she took his hand. "Almost as good as a ball of string, that."

"Looking to meet a minotaur?" she asked dryly. "That would complete this tour of the labyrinth. That or David Bowie."

"Oh, minotaurs aren't that bad," he replied breezily. "Much more civilized than anything we've met so far, although not quite as civilized as David Bowie."

* * *

><p><span>The Future<span>

_His head was pounding. Vague splinters of memory drifted through his consciousness. The strange cavern with its winding, branching chandeliers. The twisted forms of those the Things-out-of-Time had desecrated. Rose. The pitch of the crystal generator. A sense of urgency. Rose. He needed—he needed to be somewhere. The cavern! Yes! He needed to key in the overload sequence, to shatter the crystal and anchor the Things-out-of-Time in the past, where they belonged. He needed, he needed to wake up._

The Doctor groaned. He lifted a hand and sure enough, a bump was growing on the back of his head. "That was unnecessary," he muttered and opened his eyes. He blinked. He was lying on his back staring up at the sky. The _sky_? People clustered around him—Abby, Alexis, Dominic, Martha, Tosh, Daniel, Greg, Arthur, and Sean, who he hadn't had the pleasure of being introduced to yet, but the brown haired, blue eyed young man could be no one else. "What, what am I doing here?" he demanded. He pushed himself up on his elbows and searched the surrounding area. They were just outside the tunnels. The door-that-wasn't-a-door was directly in front of him. "Where is Rose?"

Abby's lips drew into a thin, straight line. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I had to. She made me promise."

"What are you talking about?" He stared at her, uncomprehending.

"Someone had to set the overload sequence off manually," Abby continued.

"Yes," he said slowly, as if he was talking to a child or someone who was exceptionally thick. "Yes, I need to go back and do that. What does that have to do with Rose?"

"That's where she is."

His eyes widened. "She can't! If she doesn't get out of the blast radius before the crystal detonates she'll be sucked back in time with those things!"

"She knows," Martha said.

The Doctor turned on her. "Then why the hell did you let her do that? And who hit me?" "I did." Abby's voice was level, but her expression was terribly sad. "I did, because she made me promise that whatever happened, I would keep you safe. The world needs you, Doctor. The universe needs you."

He opened his mouth to reply and an explosion shook the not-quite-mountain. He turned wildly and bolted for the door-that-wasn't-a-door but Dominic and Greg grabbed him before he could reach it. "Let me go!" he yelled. They grasped his arms tightly. For a skinny man he was surprisingly strong, of course, he wasn't a man. He was mostly an alien and Time Lords were incredibly strong. Superior physiology and all that. Still, they managed to keep hold of him.

"Doctor, it's not safe!" Tosh cried as the ground continued to shake.

"Rose!" he yelled. His eyes were wide and staring as he struggled. The look on his face was heartbreaking—desperation and fear and powerful, consuming need rolled into one. The men held him until the tremors stopped; then they released him. He dropped to his knees and stared at the dust that poured from the opening of the door-that-wasn't into the bright daylight of the clearing.

He was silent for a moment, and when he looked at Abby his eyes were flat and empty and his face was set in stone. Martha shivered. It was not the Doctor who was kneeling before them, it was the Oncoming Storm. Was this why he asked her to stop him? Would she have to fulfill her promise now? "I have no time machine," he said softly, his voice crisp and clipped. "No way to get to her, should she be caught up in the Time storm that will accompany the destruction of the crystal." He stood, every movement careful and deliberate. "If that happens, then you will have killed her." He looked around and even Martha was unable to meet his gaze. "All of you." He turned and faced the door-that-wasn't-a-door.

"Where are you going?" The question was out of Martha's mouth before she could stop it. Her heart ached for him, but fear prevented her from moving closer. This was not the man, alien, that she knew. This was something different, something powerful and old and very, very angry. This was something deadly.

"I am going to find Rose," he replied without turning around. "Trying to stop me would end poorly." He strode forward and disappeared into the labyrinth once more.


	7. Chapter 7: The War that Never Ends

A/N: Nothing that you recognize belongs to me! Penultimate Chapter! :D

* * *

><p>Chapter Seven: The War that Never Ends<p>

The Past

The Doctor bent over, his nose not-quite touching the strange door that was carved into the rock in front of him. Not human technology, not even close. The cuts were too smooth and the edges too sharp. It was more like the rock had been—melted, and even then he would have expected a bit more erosion. The carvings themselves were interesting as well. The door was outlined by a pair of trees whose branches wove together to create the arched top of the door, while the sides were defined by their trunks. Strange swirling designs covered the door, and interspersed were bipedal figures and glyphs that might have been words. The Doctor frowned as he studied them. Without the TARDIS he didn't quite have five billion languages at his disposal, but his knowledge of alien tongues was still fairly impressive. He did not recognize the carvings, a fact that worried him.

"Familiar at all?" Rose asked lightly.

He shook his head. "It's not a language I know."

"What about the little TARDIS?"

He straightened and examined some of the higher carvings. The door was about a foot taller than he was, not counting his hair which seemed bound and determined to stick up wildly no matter what he did. "She's too young yet. It'll be at least five or six years before she has enough power to create a bond that would allow her to translate for me."

"So how are we supposed to get in?" Martha asked from her place on his right. She gestured at the door. "There aren't any hinges—it looks like just a carving."

"Why do you think it isn't just that?" Abby's voice was skeptical.

Martha shrugged. "This is where the trail ends, and it's conveniently next to a mysterious door." A corner of her mouth tugged upward in a rueful smile. "I've been at Torchwood long enough to appreciate the likelihood of a coincidence, which is approximately zero."

"There's any number of possible entry triggers," the Doctor responded absently. "A hidden pressure plate, a key, a vocal trigger…"

"What, like 'speak 'friend' and enter?'" Dominic quipped.

The Doctor shot him an amused look. "Something like that, yes. Didn't peg you as a Tolkien fan, though."

The other man grinned. "Oh, not me, but Abbs loved him growing up. She was gonna marry him and everything."

"That's quite enough, little brother," Abigail growled, but the amusement in her eyes softened the harsh tone of her voice.

As usual, Martha reached out and dragged him (metaphorically speaking, Rose was the one who did the literal dragging) back to the task at hand. "Look at this, Doctor." She pointed to one of the carvings. It was a bipedal figure facing what looked to be a rough representation of the door. The next carving depicted the same figure halfway through the door. "What do you think that means?"

He was frowning as he studied the puzzle before him. Something was off. Something in the air tasted—odd. Metallic, almost. A grin grew as inspiration dawned on him. Of course! He was getting slow in his old age, or maybe it was just the human bits that were messing with his phenomenal Time Lord brain.

"Figured it out, then?" Rose asked with a matching grin.

"Oh yes!" he said triumphantly. Then he grabbed her hand and stepped through the door. There was a brief sensation of warmth, and then they were through. There was a tunnel in front of them, long and almost pitch-black. He stuck his head back out and everyone jumped.

It was very strange, seeing only the Doctor's beaming face and hopeless hair sticking out from what looked like solid stone. "It's a hologram!" he crowed. "Quite brilliant, actually. Probably solar powered."

"That's a first," Arthur commented. "Environmentally friendly aliens."

The Doctor snorted. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response." He looked at them expectantly for a moment. "Well, what are you doing hanging around out there? The adventure's this way!"

* * *

><p>It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the much dimmer light of the tunnel. Even with the torches that the produced from their packs the darkness seemed to press around them.<p>

"Any idea where we're headed?" Tosh called from the back of the line.

"No idea!" the Doctor responded. "More fun that way." Several poorly-muffled groans were the only response he gained. They walked in relative silence for a few minutes, and then the tunnel widened and branched and they were left staring at two possibilities. Rose glanced at Abby, who nodded.

"We split up," she said firmly. "We can cover more ground separately."

"Do the walky talkies still work?" Rose asked.

Daniel shrugged. "Off and on."

She nodded. "We meet back here in two hours. That should give us enough time to explore. Any sign of trouble and you run, got it?" She stared at each person until they nodded, albeit somewhat reluctantly. None of them were comfortable with the idea of leaving potentially injured teammates behind, but they wouldn't do anyone any good if they were dead.

"Arthur, Alexis, Daniel, and Martha, you're with me," Abby said. "Tosh, Dominic, and Greg, you're with the Doctor and Rose." She glanced at their options. "We'll take the left." She gave the others a cheery wave as her group started down the tunnel. "See you in a bit!"

* * *

><p>Rose shivered and kept a tight grip on the Doctor's hand. She knew that she had to be strong for her team. They were relying on her to stay calm and in control—but it was hard. The darkness seemed to wrap around them and she could almost feel the persistent tug of the Void. If she closed her eyes she knew that she would be back inside the thick blackness. She struggled to keep her breathing even and fought the urge not to blink. The Doctor was here, her team was here, and she was nowhere near the Void. The walls had closed. There was no more possibility that she would be sucked into the space between universes—hell, some people called it. They were right. It was complete and utter nothingness, a separation so intense that it burned. When they got out of this, she decided, she was never going in a cave again if she could help it. Then she sighed. Knowing Torchwood, she'd be back underground within a week. Never boring, her job. Sometimes she wondered if that was good or bad.<p>

The Doctor squeezed her hand, and she knew that he'd noticed her skittishness. Telling him about her experience in the Void had been one of the hardest things she'd ever done. She hated feeling weak or helpless, and she was terribly afraid that he would find her lacking if she let him see her when she was at less than her best. It was an unworthy thought, really. He'd seen her in far worse situations when they were traveling together in her original universe, but things had changed between them. A rock skittered in front of them, dislodged by someone's foot. The harsh sound of rock against rock brought her out of her thoughts. She frowned. It had been a while since she was oblivious enough to be distracted on a mission. Rose took a deep breath and forced herself to focus.

The Doctor glanced at Rose surreptitiously. She was pale, but seemed determined. He knew she was thinking about the Void. Now that she had shared the reasons for her aversion to dark, enclosed spaces he couldn't fault her. What she had described on the train was enough to give anyone nightmares, and she had been subjected to that for _three years_. He turned his eyes back to what little he could see of the tunnel in front of him. The air was—odd. It tasted off, metallic still. He had assumed that whatever he had tasted was the result of his proximity to the hologram, but maybe not.

"D'you feel that?" Rose asked suddenly.

"What?" he replied.

She searched the tunnel around them, but there was nothing. "Like, like a pressure on the back of your neck." She paused. "Like you're being watched."

He started to shake his head when an overwhelming pain blasted itself through his mind. _TIME LORD_, something roared as it cut through his mental shields. There was pain and fire and death swirling around him. He opened his mouth and screamed.

Rose caught the Doctor as he stumbled and fell. He was clutching his head and his eyes were screwed tightly shut with pain. He screamed and she held him, trying to stop him from hurting himself as he thrashed. The others stared at them.

"What's going on?" Greg's eyes were wide.

"No idea," Rose responded quietly. She touched his face, cupped his cheek with her hand as he relaxed slightly. His breath was coming quickly, almost in pants. "Doctor. Doctor, can you hear me?" He shuddered and opened his eyes. "Doctor, what happened?"

"They're coming," he said hoarsely. "They're coming, Rose. We need to run."

"Who?" she asked as the rest of the team scanned the tunnel in front of and behind them.

He shook his head. "I don't know—but they know me. They know what I am." His eyes went distant, and then he scrambled to his feet. "Too late!" he cried. "They're here." He grabbed her hand as a gust of wind howled through the tunnel. It was a strange, sour burst of air that kicked up dust and dirt and pelted them with small stones. The Doctor was pulling her forward, pulling her away. She tried to reach out, to grab one of her teammates but her hands met swirling air and nothing else. Rose pulled her shirt up over her nose and closed her eyes to keep out the dust. Was it just her imagination, or were there voices on the wind? Strange, taunting voices that couldn't belong to anything human.

_Run and hide_, they whispered. _Run and hide little human. We're coming to find you_.

White-hot pain cut across her side and she cried out. Next to her the Doctor grunted as something hard and heavy connected with his shoulder. "Come on, Rose!" he yelled. "We've got to run!"

* * *

><p><span>The Present<span>

The Doctor froze. Rose kept walking until their joined hands yanked her almost off her feet. "Doctor?" she asked softly. He stood in the tunnel, his eyes closed and practically radiating tension. He looked like a dog searching for a scent. "Doctor," she asked again, "what is it?"

He remained motionless for a few moments longer. She'd never seen anyone be so _still_ as he was. Then his eyes snapped open and he turned to her. "Can you feel it?"

She blinked at him. "What?"

He gestured impatiently at the empty air around them. "The voices, can you feel them? There's something else there, something I can't quite—" Then his eyes went very wide and his lips pulled back into thin lines. "Oh," he said softly. "_Oh_. Oh no."

"What?" she asked impatiently. She didn't like the look on his face.

"There's something here, Rose. Something that shouldn't be." His eyes closed and pain washed over his face. "Something from the Time War."

* * *

><p>They were running again. Well, the Doctor was running. Rose was just trying to keep up with him. He was following something in his head, some extra sense that humans didn't have. He tried to explain how it felt, the instinctive knowledge that his species had about time—its movements and order, when a point was fixed and when it was in flux. She had grasped the edges of the concepts, but in the end she trusted his knowledge, his abilities more than her own understanding. There were some things that couldn't bridge the species gap. Time Sense was apparently one of them, along with his fascination with jam.<p>

They encountered Thwrestles twice more, but were able to dodge them. Once she knew what to look for Rose was surprised that she hadn't noticed earlier. Of course, she had been injured and slightly panicked and trying to get away from whatever it was they were looking for. It felt good to be running toward danger again, even if her side was paining her and her lungs burned from exertion. She listened to her body reminding her that she wasn't exactly fighting fit. She'd lost blood and fluids in general to their first encounter with the Thwrestles, and the cut on her side wasn't horribly deep, but it was painful.

She was almost ready to drop when they finally stopped running. The tunnel opened up into a huge cavern and Rose blinked, almost blinded by the sudden return of light. Veins of quartz ran up and down the walls and carried sunlight with them, magnifying and refracting it to fill the space. In the center of the cavern a strange, crystalline structure was half-buried in the dirt. Panels of clear stone were covered by a spider-web of silver colored metal. Circular designs in a darker metal were inlaid over the panels. They looked—familiar. She gasped when she made the connection. The designs looked like the writing on the display in the TARDIS.

"Doctor, is that—"

"Yes," he interrupted. "Yes it is." He was very pale, she noticed, and he seemed tense, like a coiled spring.

"What is it?" Her voice was gentle. She hated to bring up the war. She knew that it still tortured him, and that it probably would until the day he died, but she needed to know what they were dealing with.

"It's a weapon," he responded flatly. "A weapon that manipulates time itself. It was a Time War, after all. Oh, there were regular weapons, artillery and missiles, but the worst, the deadliest, ripped apart time with the power of the Vortex."

The air seemed to thicken, and Rose thought she could almost see figures in the empty space—strange, twisted shapes that were almost too horrible to look on. "Doctor?"

Pain and guilt and disgust warred for expression on his face. "They're trapped out of time. That's why you can't kill them, why they can get through solid stone and locked doors without setting off any alarms—they're not quite here, not quite there."

"What about that other stuff, the flower petals and all that?" Her eyes were wide as she tried to avoid looking at the things.

"There are species that can manipulate matter around them," he replied. "You'd call it magic, but it's just a different form of science. Like the Carrionites, I told you about them, right?" She nodded. "They chose words and you chose numbers." He gestured to the shapes. "This lot chose something else."

A wind stirred in the cavern, sour and heavy with malice. It blew around them, not as fiercely as it had in the tunnel, but somehow more menacing. Rose was sure she heard voices—threatening, accusing, railing against the Doctor.

He blinked, and realization hit him. He knew what they were. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm so sorry."

_Not good enough_! The voices replied.

"Doctor?"

He turned to face her but he could not meet her eyes. "I know them, Rose. It was—it was necessary. Collateral damage, Romana called it." He laughed bitterly. "The Daleks were conquering their planet. It was the last stronghold—the last defense between Davros and Gallifrey. If we allowed them to take it—" he swallowed. "And in the end it didn't matter. Everything burned, their whole planet, ripped out of time to buy us an opportunity to end the war." He finally looked at her and his eyes were tortured. "This is all that's left of Arcadia."


End file.
